


BURN

by pumpkinpaperweight



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Injury, Death, F/M, Mild Gore, Strangers to Lovers, callis gets ALL her recognition in this, fire! agatha, ice! tedros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 100,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpaperweight/pseuds/pumpkinpaperweight
Summary: agatha of gavaldon is a princess, and she has a secret. several, in fact. she's pretty good at keeping them, by now.tedros  of camelot is a king, and he has a secret. just one, but it's a big one, and if it gets out, he's done for.agatha of gavaldon and tedros of camelot are also engaged to one another. she's never met him. he's never met her.it's just standard for arranged marriages. you understand. don't worry, they'll meet soon enough. nothing will go wrong. this is a fairy tale, isn't it? all fairy tales have arranged marriages and overbearing mothers and mollycoddling advisors and gloves and veils and--what? what's that?that's not the version you've heard?well, this was a long time ago. things get mangled, as they're retold.what?no, that's not the who the villain is.where on earth did you get that from?oh, dear.perhaps we need to clear a few things up.
Relationships: Agatha & Callis (The School for Good and Evil), Agatha & Sophie (The School for Good and Evil), Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil)
Comments: 313
Kudos: 365





	1. prologue

It’s a miracle that no one has noticed her yet. Really.

Puffing, feet swinging, Nicola digs her left pick into another patch of ice and pulls herself another few inches up the east tower of Camelot’s royal palace, towards the open window. She’s thankful for the mottled surface of the palace-- part ice, part stone-- which gives her better grip.

Swearing softly, she tries to ignore the cluster of fat, snowy white birds gazing at her from the roof, interest in their gleaming eyes, and struggles the last few inches to the window. Carefully, she props her foot on the ridge of the guttering to her right, and lifts her eyes just above the windowsill.

The corridor is empty.

She listens. 

Silent.

Lauding her good luck, Nicola scrabbles over the ledge and through the open window. She peeks back down the way she’d come, and finds the courtyard just as deserted as it had been when she’d arrived. Good.

Huffing, she leans against the wall and stares down the corridor, marvelling at the bizarre combination of the-- presumably original-- dark stone, split by veins of glimmering ice. Parts of statues are frozen too, and she can see gems on a chandelier that are far too smooth and sparkly to be diamonds. 

Eyes narrowed, Nicola pads down the corridor, treading carefully to avoid making much noise. The palace is eerily silent and devoid of any servants or visitors, apart from the ones she’d seen in the courtyard, yoking horses and preparing a carriage. Hopefully, it means people will be appropriately busy. Unfortunately, it also means the target of her observations is probably leaving soon.

Casting a glance out of the window, she finds another few of those birds, oddly still, and more people in the courtyard. Damn it. She doesn’t have long.

* * *

The plans the twins had given her are mercifully accurate, and it doesn’t take her long to reach the centre of the palace. But where will he be?

Nicola decides to try the throne room first. There's always a chance he's receiving other people. Following a passageway marked _to: TR viewing gallery_ she emerges in a shadowed balcony that runs all the way around the room. Frowning, she turns to look over the edge, sliding her foot over the frosty floorboards. She can’t see anyone, which is irritating. But something makes her hesitate to leave. It feels as if she’s being watched, almost…

Shaking her head, she pulls the map out of her pocket again, to see where she should go next, and as she does so, the token that had come with the plans falls with a clatter to the floor. Nicola stoops to pick it up, sighing, and peers at the royal crest of Foxwood engraved in the bronze. The floor feels colder than she’d thought. Maybe it was getting to her.

She doesn’t have much love for either of Foxwood's twin Kings, but the money involved was enough to keep her family afloat for years, so…

“I better get my pay for this.” she mutters--

The floorboards below her shatter.

Too shocked to even scream, Nicola plunges through the hole in the floor and crashes in a heap onto the flagstones below, the wind completely knocked out of her.

Wheezing, she rolls over, trying to work out if she’s injured. No, she doesn’t think she is. She’ll have some terrific bruises, and her coccyx hurt like hell, but nothing’s broken. Probably. She can move everything. Good.

Gasping shallowly, she scrabbles into a sitting position. How could the floorboards have broken? She’d barely moved, and they’d only been frosted over, it wasn’t as if they were made of ice--

But they were. She was lying on shards of ice.

It wasn’t as if they could have _changed--_

“Why have the Kings of Foxwood sent a spy into my palace?”

Nicola freezes, horrified.

There’s someone stood behind a pillar on the opposite side of the throne room, barely visible in the shadows. 

Oh yes, those floorboards _could_ have changed. 

Nicola’s stomach clenches.

She’d anticipated guards or servants or a gardener. She’d _prepared_ for guards or servants or gardeners.

But she’d barely spared a thought for the person she’d come to spy _on._

She probably should have.

Before she can even form a reply, a pale hand slithers from the shadows and makes a lazy gesture towards her. 

The shards of ice shoot up from around her and reform in the walkway above.

King Tedros doesn’t move. Nicola doesn’t move.

“I… don’t quite know.” she says slowly. “They didn’t really tell me much.”

“Then why are you here?”

His voice is low and leaning towards harsh, and his intonation is slightly odd, as if there’s something wrong with his mouth.

“They promised me a big payout.” says Nicola truthfully. “Enough to support my family for years.”

“And what did they tell you to get?”

Nicola swallows thickly.

“Just information.”

“About _what?”_

“You.” Nicola says. “Your majesty.” she hastens to add.

There’s a pause.

“And what do Rhian and Japeth want to know about me?”

“Anything. But mostly…”

She stops.

“Mostly?” he presses from the shadows.

“They wanted to know if Queen Agatha is still being held here. How. Where. That sort of… that sort of thing.”

“ _Held?”_

Nicola bites her cheek.

“They believe the old tale, sire.”

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with this _old tale.”_ a sneering note has crept into his voice, now. “Perhaps you could fill me in.”

Nicola stares.

“So she’s not a captive--”

“Queen Agatha, _my wife,_ is in her kingdom.” snaps the King. “I’m leaving this afternoon, to go to her for several months, so _my_ kingdom can have a summer. Now, seeing as you’ve broken into my palace on an errand for two meddling boy Kings… I’d like you, Nicola Pipp, to tell me what exactly it _is_ that they believe.”

* * *

Nicola knows it by heart, which is just as well, because she can tell his patience is fraying. But first, she has bigger problems.

“How do you know my--”

“Those birds have been following you ever since you entered the citadel and your landlady saw the castle plans in your belongings.” says Tedros shortly. “I make and control them. Had you looked closer, you’d have noticed they were made of ice and snow.”

He holds his hand out into the light again, and Nicola stares as snow floats from his open palm, forming the body of the tiny, round birds she’d seen earlier. Ice sheens across his palm, shudders, shatters, and flies up to form the eyes, beak, and spindly legs. The bird flies off into the rafters, where it disappears.

Nicola has a thousand questions, but she doesn’t voice any of them. Instead, she says;

“The old tale.”

“Ah, yes.” Tedros is eerily still. “What does it say? I kidnapped my wife and forced her to marry me. What else? Do I fling my children from the highest tower when they displease me?”

“It-- no. Er, actually, I didn’t know you _had_ children.”

“Good, it means kings won’t send spies to break into their palaces.”

Nicola winces.

“Shall I just--”

“Be my guest.” says Tedros. Nicola thinks he sounds savagely anticipatory, and suspects he’s definitely heard at least _some_ of this before. 

“Well,” she says. “This is the only version I’ve ever heard. _Once upon a time…_ ”

* * *

_Once upon a time, in a kingdom on the edge of the woods, there lived a beautiful Queen, beloved by her people. In time, it was announced that the Queen was with child, and the people rejoiced at the news. Women rushed to vie for the position of royal nursemaid, well-wishers travelled from distant lands, and, soon, the Queen was delivered of a healthy baby girl. The people celebrated, but, privately, the Queen was afraid. The child looked nothing like her; her hair was raven black where the Queen and the Prince were blonde, and the girl’s eyes were dark where her parent’s were light. They did not know why; at least, until they heard the screams from the nursery, and burst in to find their daughter’s cradle in flames. When they snatched her from the cradle, they were shocked to discover she was unharmed. And then they realised;_

_Fire magic. A curse on their daughter._

_The Queen was terrified for her daughter’s safety, fearing she’d be kidnapped and used as a weapon, or would hurt herself and others. She covered her daughter’s face with a veil, so people would not notice how her veins glowed and how her colouring was all wrong. She claimed she was sickly, in order to keep her away from people whilst she learned to control her powers. She appointed a trustworthy nursemaid to oversee the princess, even though it broke her heart. She tracked down a reclusive old mage, and begged him to enchant gloves that would restrict her daughter’s magic even a little._

_Several months later, she heard rumours of a similar situation, on the other side of the woods. A prince, born with uncontrollable ice magic._

_A week later, the King wrote to her, proposing a marriage alliance. Their children would not exploit one another, nor would they fear one another, and surely, uniting the two countries would be beneficial._

_And, most importantly, they could balance one another._

_The Queen, relieved she had secured a future for her daughter, agreed immediately._

_Had she known what she’d been agreeing to, however, she never would have done so._

_She had married her daughter to a monster._

_At first, he was charming. Handsome. Noble. His kindly old father had died, and now he was King, and his people loved him dearly. Why shouldn’t they? He was everything they should want in a King. The wedding went beautifully. Everything was well._

_But then, he began to change. Slowly, he turned the princess against her own mother, lies whispering in the bitter northern winds. He convinced her that her mother hated her, was veiling her for her own selfish reasons. The princess, poor, insecure, thing, believed him._

_When the Queen tried to stop him, he struck. A storm descended. Snow lashed, arctic winds roared, ice crawled everywhere--_

_and the Queen was cast from the highest tower as her beloved daughter watched._

_There is no happy ending to this tale. The last thing the poor Queen heard, as she fell, was the cries of her daughter as the king dragged her away. The two kingdoms became reclusive. And that is how it has stayed, for centuries._

_And will probably always stay._

* * *

The second she’s done, Tedros laughs to himself. It's rough and harsh in his throat and makes Nicola shudder. 

“Trust that old cow to make herself into the tragic hero from the grave.” 

Nicola stares. She hates that she can’t see him properly. It’s making her anxious.

“So you _did_ hate the Queen?”

“Vanessa? Oh, yes. There’s a bit of truth in every story, you know.”

“And you… killed her?”

Tedros snorts.

“I didn’t push her, if that’s what you’re asking. Sometimes wish I did, mind you.”

“But--”

“I was… _indirectly responsible_ for her death.” says Tedros dismissively. 

Nicola, who thinks that sounds an awful lot like he’d just got someone else to do the pushing, remains silent, thinking hard.

“So… everything else was a lie?”

Nicola gets the feeling he’s staring at her, but it’s impossible to tell.

“Like I said,” Tedros says. “There’s bits of truth in it.”

Getting the impression he’s deliberating something, Nicola looks up.

“Like what?”

“Why should I tell a Foxwood spy what’s true and what’s not? Everyone seems to have decided for me.”

But Nicola’s in her element, now. She knows that no one but _her_ will have ever heard this version before, right from Tedros himself. Hell, it’s likely that no one’s ever got close enough to find out what she’s _already_ found out, if everyone still thinks Queen Agatha is a captive--

_He could be lying, you cretin._

Nicola bites her nail. He could be. He could be trying to lure her into a false sense of security, then take her out with a bolt of ice to the brain, and--

“Well,” she says slowly. “My loyalty to them is only really in the money, and my _actual_ interest is in the information, not what it gets used for. Besides, I don’t think you’re going to tell me anything that would be useful to Rhian and Japeth, are you?”

“No.” Tedros says coolly. “I’m not.”

“Well, then, let’s hear it.” Nicola crosses her legs. “Your version.”

She’s aware she’s probably sliding into _irreverent,_ or _disrespectful,_ but Tedros hardly seems to notice. There’s a long pause.

“Let me guess.” says Nicola. “No one’s ever bothered to ask before, have they?”

A pause.

“No.” says Tedros softly. “They haven’t.”

Slowly, he moves around the pillar, into the light from the high windows. 

Nicola is so busy staring, that she almost misses it when he starts talking.


	2. letters

**PART 1: FIRE**

_ Some say the world will end in fire, _

_ Some say in ice. _

_ From what I’ve tasted of desire _

_ I hold with those who favor fire. _

_ But if it had to perish twice, _

_ I think I know enough of hate _

_ To say that for destruction ice _

_ Is also great _

_ And would suffice. _

_ \-- Robert Frost  _

* * *

Agatha is shaken from her uneasy half-sleep before the sun has even risen.

“Agatha, sweetheart.” Callis leans over her, hand pressed lightly into her hair. “Time to get up.”

“It’s still dark.” says Agatha peevishly.

“The Queen wants to set off early. For… security reasons.”

“ _ Security _ .” Agatha sneers, kicking the covers away and sitting up. “Who’s going to be taking potshots at us as we  _ leave _ ? They’ll be dancing in the streets.”

Callis doesn’t comment on Agatha’s grumblings, as usual. Agatha carries on despite the lack of response.

“Besides, it’s not as if her stupid carriages aren’t armed to the teeth with enchantments and glass so thick you could knock yourself out on it-- what?”

For Callis is frowning.

“We’re not going by carriage.” she says.

“Huh?”

“We’re going by sea.”

“ _ Sea?  _ We’re taking the  _ ships?” _

“She claims it’s faster.”

“ _ Faster?  _ We’ll have to sail around the Gulf of Gillikin!” Agatha hurls herself out of bed, furious. “You know  _ full  _ well why she chose the ships!”

“There are several reasons she could have done.” says Callis, retrieving Agatha’s gloves from the floor. 

“Don’t be cagey with me.” snaps Agatha. Callis turns to look at her and Agatha flushes.

“Sorry. Stressed.”

“I gathered.” Callis holds out the gloves. Agatha carefully takes them from her and pulls them on, trying to avoid touching Callis where she can. Callis turns to rifle through Agatha's wardrobe. 

“Nothing fancy?” Agatha asks hopefully. She can't see any new dresses. Callis shakes her head.

“Your mother has arranged for you to be dressed to meet the King when we arrive.”

“Oh.” says Agatha flatly. “Great.”

“Speaking of, I saw the Queen this morning, and she gave this letter to me, to give to you.” Callis pulls a thick, heavy envelope from her pocket. “Come here, I’ll do your dress laces and you can read it.”

Agatha frowns, taking the letter and weighing it in her hand. It's fine quality parchment, heavy and smooth, addressed to her in a sweeping hand.

“Who’s it from?”

“Not sure.”

Agatha turns the letter over, sees the crest stamped into the wax, and groans.

“I think you’re supposed to be more excited when you get a letter from your future husband, you know.” says Callis. “Step here.”

Agatha distractedly lets Callis lace her into her dress, slitting the letter open and yanking the sheet out--

Something falls to the floor with a clatter. Agatha stoops to pick it up, and finds herself holding a ring; a coiled silver thing with a ruby winking from the centre. Looking closer, she realises it’s a dragon, carefully carved, with the ruby for an eye. How egotistical. The royal family with the name Pendragon are sending her a dragon ring. Why should they want to send her a ring--?

Oh, she knows why.

“That’s pretty.” says Callis diplomatically. 

“He’s sent me a  _ token.”  _ says Agatha, disgusted.

“Read the letter, you cynic.”

Reluctantly, Agatha turns her attention to the letter--

“This is dated from a  _ week  _ ago!”

“Queen Vanessa forgot to give it to you, apparently.” says Callis.

“Sure she did. I'm sure she didn’t try and read it herself, first.” mutters Agatha, squinting at the surprisingly neat print scrawled across the parchment;

_ Esteemed Princess Agatha,  _

_ I regret that I haven’t had the chance to personally write to you until now; my court say it’s not something that’s done, but I think it’s terribly rude to not even attempt to greet my betrothed before we meet in person. Preparations for your arrival are in full swing here, so I thought I ought to emphasise how very enthusiastic everyone here is to meet you. I feel very fortunate to be entering into a union with someone I’ve heard so many good things about-- _

“What’s he been hearing about me?” demands Agatha. 

“Probably done his research.” says Callis.

“So, what, he’s heard that I’m dour and unpopular and threw that pitcher of wine over the governor’s son? Oh, he was  _ forced _ to write this--”

She goes back to scanning the letter. 

_ \--and I felt I should send something to express my affection. Please accept this ring. I hope it will be agreeable to you. _

“Oh, my god, it is. It’s a token of his  _ love _ .” groans Agatha.

“He wrote that?” Callis peers over her shoulder.

“Well, he says  _ affection,  _ but it’s the same thing, isn’t it? He’s never even  _ met  _ me--”

Agatha glances at the last few lines. 

_ Until we meet in person, _

_ Yours, fondly, _

_ King Tedros of Camelot. _

“Ew.” said Agatha decisively.

“Don’t even think about burning that.” warns Callis.

“Thinking about it.” Agatha carefully places the letter on the side, and looks thoughtfully at the ring, for a minute.

Then she snorts and shoves it on, over her glove. It fits, surprisingly.

“Apt, isn’t it?” she mutters.

“Just a little.” sighs Callis. “Let Sophie read that, she’ll be elated.”

“I bet she will.”

Agatha avoids looking in the mirror, opting for staring at her bare feet instead. Far from making her feel better, the letter has made her incredibly, crushingly, anxious, because it’s made it into a reality. She’s leaving for Camelot  _ today,  _ to go and marry a man she’s never met and knows next to nothing about, aside from that her  _ mother  _ thinks he’s a good match. Her brain is conjuring up visions of some fat, bald, lecherous old man waiting for her in Camelot, wanting of heirs and a trophy wife. Her mother’s final revenge for a disappointing daughter. Well, he’d be disappointed, too--

Agatha is jerked out of her thoughts by Callis swearing and snatching her hand away from Agatha’s exposed neck.

“Shit.” Agatha spins to her nursemaid, startled. “ _ Shit,  _ Callis, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention--”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” mutters Callis, sucking her burnt knuckle. “Should’ve noticed. Calm yourself down, I’ll get your veil--”

She marches off stoically, Agatha staring guiltily after her.

Yes, Vanessa’s disappointing daughter. Dour, unpopular, and reclusive, nothing like her blonde, beautiful mother-- 

and born with a proficiency for fire magic.

Well. That was understating it a fair bit. 

She’d had enough time to research it whilst everyone else was at fancy balls, and it seemed to be the case that she was less magic _ proficient  _ and more magic _ created,  _ if you will-- more fire than human. Not a mage specialising in fire magic (she hadn't taught herself to do anything, rather, taught herself  _ not  _ to do things), nor a magic-inclined human with a talent for elements (she couldn't manipulate anything  _ else _ , just fire) but she was burning and charring and scorching things from the second she was born, and would be doing so until she day she died.

All the fairy tales Agatha had read when she was little had shown beautiful, flawless, magicians summoning fire or water or anything else with just a wave of their hands, and seemingly no effort or struggle for control. Agatha had been confused. Why didn’t they scorch their bedsheets and burn people when they tried to hug them? Why didn’t they recoil from water and cry when they had to bathe because it hurt so much? Why weren’t they forced to wear gloves to suppress it, and a veil to cover up how their veins glowed, not to mention how they looked completely different to their mother--?

She’d later found out that the gloves and the veil were pretty Agatha-exclusive. 

She was never seen without either, but  _ especially _ the veil. No vast oil portraits, no watercolour paintings or sketches, no charming miniatures for suitors to carry, no nothing. (Her  _ mother _ had plenty, though. You could barely turn a corner without coming across a Vanessa staring imperiously down at you.)

Callis had hated that veil from the moment it was put on and, Agatha thinks, will no doubt hate it until it comes off for good (which will probably be never). Agatha had always attempted to make light of it-- after all, it meant she never had to bother with hair, makeup,  _ or  _ concealing her disdain for odious courtiers-- but Callis wouldn’t be moved. In fact, she’d hated pretty much everything Vanessa had decreed to be best for Agatha, but nothing more than the Queen’s insistence that everyone should avoid touching her. 

* * *

Agatha has a vivid memory from when she was around three or four, of chasing her mother’s retreating skirts into the palace, soaked from falling into a stream, and horrified by how much it hurt her _.  _ It wasn’t like any pain she’d felt before, not like grazing her knees on the path or falling out of a tree-- it seemed like it was coming from inside, and it  _ hurt. _ She’d ran after her mother’s yellow silken skirts, fat tears running down her cheeks and almost immediately evaporating to nothing, making wobbly attempts to catch Vanessa and get her attention. She’d finally managed it-- one big swipe and she’d caught Vanessa’s skirts, stumbling up to her, catching her hand and opening her mouth to tell her what had happened--

Vanessa had snatched her hand away so quickly Agatha had overbalanced and toppled over onto the floor. She’d pried her skirts from Agatha’s tiny hand, examined the scorch mark with a cry of horror, then turned furiously to Agatha.

“What did I  _ say  _ about not  _ touching people?”  _

She gathered up her skirts and fled, leaving Agatha whimpering on the floor, confused and frightened.

Someone had approached from behind and gathered her up, and Agatha had cried in Callis’s arms for the entire walk back to her room. Later, Callis had sat her by the fire and very carefully explained to her, while she poked at logs and tried to make pictures out of the flames, that her mother had decided she was to wear enchanted gloves, so she wouldn’t burn things when she touched them. Agatha had agreed quickly, hoping that would mean Vanessa wouldn’t be upset at her anymore.

It wasn’t until that night, when she got up to bother Callis about something or other, and saw her slathering aloe vera all over her chest and arms, that it occurred to her that Callis could be burned, too.

Not that Callis seemed to care. She was almost constantly red, and had innumerable calluses and burn scars on her hands, because she’d never stopped trying to hug her.

Now, Agatha watches Callis re-enter, and squints suspiciously at the veil.

“Has that been re-enchanted?”

Yes, enchanted. Completely impossible to see through. Vanessa was taking no chances.

No wonder the people speculated she was kidnapped, dead, or replaced. 

“Oh, yes.” says Callis sardonically. “Can’t have King Tedros seeing your face prematurely, can we?”

She reaches for her--

“I’ll do it.” says Agatha quickly.

“I don’t think so.” says Callis simply. “You always put it on crooked, to irritate your mother, don’t think I didn’t notice. Body temperature, if you please.”

“She’s not my  _ mother.”  _ mutters Agatha, exhaling slowly to drop her skin temperature to something that could be brushed over without pain. 

Callis raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t say that in front of her.”

“She’s not.”

“Physically, and legally, she is.”

“Well, I wish she wasn’t.”

“You might, once she cops it and you get lots of pretty things.”

“I don’t  _ like  _ pretty things.” snaps Agatha. 

“I know.” says Callis, quietly. She takes Agatha’s circlet and secures the veil on her head, but she hesitates before she drops the fabric over her face.

“You’re coming too, aren’t you?” asks Agatha desperately. Callis raises her eyebrows.

“Vanessa wanted to leave me behind, seeing as you’re not technically in need of a nursemaid once you’re married, but I hear someone went to Vanessa and threw a rather unconventional bargaining chip down.”

“I only said that I’d want you to be my children’s nursemaid.” mutters Agatha.

“Which is a bizarre thing for you to say, considering you don’t  _ like  _ children.”

“I like  _ some  _ children.”

“You like the baker’s daughter because she’s the  _ baker’s _ daughter, Agatha.” sighs Callis. “ I’m sure the Queen knows that you don’t like children. I’m surprised it worked.”

Agatha tries to look innocent.

“Well, she  _ tried _ to refuse me.”

“Did she?”

“I told her I’d leak the details of her magic makeover to the press if she didn’t let me bring you.”

She looks back up to Callis’s shocked face.

“What?”

“ _ Agatha.”  _

“Was that wrong?”

Callis shakes her head in exasperation, but she’s smirking.

“She must have been so angry.”

“She went all red, and told me I  couldn’t do that. I said  _ why not? _ She couldn’t think of an answer, got mad, and told me I could have my _craggy old nursemaid,_ _ get out of my sight _ . I told her you look better than she does and ran.”

“ _ Agatha! _ ”

Agatha starts to cackle.

“That’s why she didn’t let me go to the Peace Ball, you know? And why she took half my jewellery away. Probably why she withheld that letter too… oh, and I  _ bet  _ that’s why we’re going by boat, hah…”

She laughs harder, watching Callis struggle to control herself.

“I don’t think that’s why she took your jewellery." says Callis. "I think she just wanted it for herself, honestly.”

“Well, that too. She’s such an old  _ witch _ .” snorts Agatha. “I bet you anything that this Tedros is a bald, lecherous old man with no teeth and an immense fortune she wants to pilfer, while simultaneously making me suffer.”

She gently takes the veil from Callis’s hands and drops it over her face.

“Come on.” she says. “Lets go and spend two whole days surrounded by water.”

* * *

Vanessa is fussing over Sophie when they arrive, because of course she is.

“Oh, what a lovely colour, dear, it’s perfect for a ship--”

It’s not perfect for a ship. Neither of their dresses are. Agatha can’t resist rolling her eyes at Sophie’s pink chiffon skirts and Vanessa’s cloth of gold gown with black embellishments. Their only concession to the mode of transport were the fact that there’s no train on either dress.

You’d have thought  _ they _ were the ones they were marrying off.

“--I hope you won’t be seasick, I wish we could go by carriage, but--”

Agatha clears her throat. Vanessa’s face drops, and she turns reluctantly.

“Oh. Good morning, Agatha. Lady Netherwood.”

Callis curtsies. Agatha doesn’t bother, just inclines her head slightly.

“Mother.”

Vanessa is obviously annoyed, but she doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because Sophie is beaming.

“Aggie!” she rushes forwards and grabs her arm. “Isn’t this exciting? It’s finally the day!”

“We won’t even be  _ there _ for another day.” says Agatha, pointedly. She hopes Vanessa can tell she’s staring at her. “And the wedding isn’t for weeks.”

“Oh, pish.” Sophie squeezes her bicep. “Come on, darling. No one likes a pedant for a bride.”

Agatha snorts. Sophie sighs and drops the argument, still hanging off her arm.

“Will you be alright, travelling by ship?”

Sophie. Another person not afraid of touching her. She’s far too touchy to stop herself, and generally doesn’t hold onto her long enough for it to hurt her, but Agatha always makes sure she keeps her gloves on and keeps her arms covered when she’s with Sophie. 

“She’ll be fine.” says Vanessa smoothly. “But it’s very sweet that you’re worried, Sophie.”

Sophie looks at Agatha for a second opinion.

Agatha makes a non-committal noise, and very deliberately turns away from Vanessa.

“He sent me a letter,” she says to Sophie. “Want to read it?”

“ _ Really?  _ Let me see, let me see--”

“Sent me this ring, too-- ow, don’t pull my hand--”

Agatha allows Sophie to gawk at the ring and digs in her pocket for the letter.

“Yes, it’s lovely.” says Vanessa tersely. “Very kind of him.”

Agatha has gathered, through her eighteen years on earth, that Vanessa basically hates for her to have anything nice, ever. So it’s a small victory to have this letter, however insincere it may be. 

“He says it’s a-- what did he say, Callis--? _A token of his affection_ , right. Apparently he’s heard lots of good things about me. How sweet.”

“Ooh, you lucky old thing!” Sophie snatches the letter and squints furiously at it. Agatha isn’t entirely sure her lady-in-waiting is supposed to talk to her like that, but she doesn’t care, and Vanessa would let her illegitimate daughter-- whoops, sorry,  _ favoured member of court-- _ get away with murder.

Vanessa looks sour.

“Well,” she says. “Seeing as Agatha is going to be his wife, and live with him, I suppose that’s good.”

She turns away to shout at the sailors carrying things onboard. Most of the trunks are her own, most likely. Agatha doesn't own any that massive.

Something occurs to Agatha, and she turns suddenly to Callis.

“What about Reap--”

“I packed for you.” says Callis pointedly. “Knowing that we wouldn’t be coming back for a good while.”

Agatha gets the message.

“Right.” she says. Knowing she'll have at least one thing from home makes the tension in her chest ease a little. “Thank you.”

* * *

“The servants, apart from Lady Netherwood and Sophie, are going on another ship.” says Vanessa, marching up the gangplank. Agatha’s temptations to push her off are momentarily quashed by her incredulity.

“ _ Servants?  _ We don’t need servants!”

Vanessa ignores her.

“I am bringing Captain Baumann and Countess Jadis--”

Oh, Hester and Anadil are coming too. Thank god. This time last week, they weren’t, but Agatha can only assume Vanessa has realised she needs Hester to stop Agatha getting murdered before she’s married, and that Agatha desperately needs Anadil’s expertise in high society.

“--as well as  _ my _ maids-- I have been assured the future Queen will be provided with her own upon arrival-- and my dressmaker, as I am unsure whether the fashions in Camelot will be to my taste. A third ship will carry our luggage, and the dowry.”

“ _ Dowry?”  _

Agatha had heard nothing about a dowry. Again, Vanessa ignores her, marching off towards the stairs to belowdecks.

“I will be in my cabin if anyone requires my attention. Tell the Captain, Lady Netherwood.”

“Yes, my lady.” murmurs Callis. 

Agatha glances at her the second Vanessa is gone.

“Where’s Reaper?”

“I gave him to Hester to look after.” says Callis. “She and Anadil are the only people he wouldn’t jump overboard to escape.” 

“At least he’s in good hands.” murmurs Agatha. 

Sophie is staring after Vanessa, frowning.

“What?” Agatha asks her.

“I hate how she talks like you’re not right there.” mutters Sophie. Agatha shrugs.

“You’re the favourite daughter.”

“ _ Shush, Aggie!” _

"What? Everyone knows, or at least suspects, by now. Pretty sure she's spreading the rumours herself."

Sophie was a year or so younger than Agatha, which was very convenient. Born not long after the death of Agatha's father, which was even  _ more _ convenient. Mourning confinement could also cover up an illegitimate pregnancy, see. 

Not that it did, obviously. 

It just… could.

It didn’t.

Obviously.

(Rumour had it that Vanessa had poisoned her husband herself, blaming him for the disaster that was the Heir Apparent. Poor Prince Stefan. Probably wasn't his fault at all.) 

"I don't know what she has to gain from it." Sniffs Sophie.  _ "I  _ won't get the throne." 

"Makes her look better though, doesn't it? Implies that she actually  _ does _ look how she presents herself."

"I look like her because she took so much of that appearance magic whilst she was pregnant. She  _ actually _ looks like  _ you _ ." Murmurs Sophie.

"Oh, I know." Agatha stretches. "I'm going to have a million unveiled portraits commissioned of myself when I'm Queen, so everyone can see it. Make her roll in her grave. Might change  _ her _ portraits, too. Give her warts.”

Sophie sniggers, but she’s glancing anxiously at the door to below deck the whole time. Agatha hates that Sophie still wants validation from Vanessa, but she’s the only mother figure that Sophie has.

Agatha no longer needs, or wants, any attention from Vanessa. 

“Let’s go downstairs.” she says. “Over these next two days, I want as little to do with water as physically possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know i actually don't know what to put here after all this pfft  
> yay witchy agatha!!!   
> and ya'll really thought I was gonna tell you what tedros looks like in the prologue? naaahhhhh lol  
> I'm about halfway through chapter 2 rn, I'll do that and 3 and then post them together and then etc etc etc, similar to how I sometimes double or triple updated GMTG  
> let me know what you thought!!! :D


	3. embers and ashes

_ There's been no news for several hours, now. _

_ Callis looks, again, at the other two girls in the room with her. They both look uncomfortably back at her.  _

_ Hours ago, there had been fifteen of them. Now, there was three. _

_ When the news that the Queen was giving birth had broken, the fifteen hopefuls for the position of nursemaid had been herded into an antechamber and promptly abandoned. Presumably, they were to be chosen from once the child had actually been born, not that anyone had said that to them. Or much at all. _

_ But yes, fifteen.  _

_ Callis tries to count off what had happened to them. _

_ Number One had gotten bored and announced, suddenly, that she didn't like babies much anyway, and she'd get better pay being a housekeeper. She'd left, and about half an hour later, they'd gotten the news that the child had been born. A princess. Healthy, they thought, apart from the fact that she seemed oddly warm. They worried she might have developed a fever. _

_ Number Two and Three left the second they heard that. They weren't prepared to deal with a sickly child, apparently. Number Four followed them.  _

_ No news. Number Five left, claiming she'd got another job lined up. The maids coming down from the royal suites carried whispers;"the Queen", "furious" and "dark hair", and Callis knew, then, that the girl looked just like her mother. Or, rather, how her mother used to look. _

_ Numbers Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine left then. Callis didn't blame them, much. Being responsible for a child the Queen would probably resent wasn't the cushy job they'd expected.  _

_ Hours went by. More rumours. The Queen was fighting with Prince Stefan, the Princess was still feverish, the doctor and the midwife were baffled, the Princess looked exactly like the Queen used to, no hint of Stefan at all-- _

_ Numbers Ten, Eleven, and Twelve slipped away. Trouble was brewing, it was obvious. They didn't want to be involved. The older maids and staff told them that when Vanessa was born, her father came triumphantly down to pick a nursemaid almost immediately.  _

_ Something was wrong. Something  _ **_is_ ** _ wrong. _

_ Callis glances at the other girls. They're both younger than her. One can only be fifteen or sixteen, hands shoved in-between her knees, staring warily at the door. The other is skinny and slight, and Callis is sure she's one of the maids who cries when the housekeeper shouts at her. _

_ Neither of them are equipped for what this job seems to be shaping up to be. _

_ Is  _ **_she?_ **

_ Callis stares absently at the fire in the grate. They've had no news for hours, now. This job won't be easy.  _

_ If there's a job at all. _

_ The youngest girl voices her concerns. _

_ "She's… she's not… um... well, they said she was feverish, and we haven't heard anything, so she’s not…?" _

_ Callis gets the gist. _

_ "I think we'd know if it had gone really wrong." She says, but she's not sure.  _ **_Would_ ** _ they know? If Vanessa wasn't happy… _

_ Well, there was no  _ **_if_ ** _ about it. The girl looked like Vanessa used to, and she was probably sickly. She was doomed.  _

_ Callis feels a pang of anxiety for the girl. Barely in the world for half a day, and already condemned… _

_ She doesn't value Queen Vanessa highly, she'll openly admit. She'd been silently doubtful when the announcement she was going to be a mother had come through. Vanessa had been accepting ridiculously expensive gifts and buying all sorts of elaborate baby clothes, even commissioning a painter for the day, to paint a portrait of mother and baby…  _

_ Of course, the painter was dismissed earlier. They’d looked out the window and seen him scampering out of the entrance hall hours ago. _

_ Callis grits her teeth.  _

_ She glances at the others, again. They're staring worriedly in different directions. The youngest girl's stocking is falling down. The other's curly hair is escaping from her cap. _

_ Callis stands up almost instinctively.  _

_ The other two girls-- yes, they're girls, but isn't Callis, too?-- stare at her. _

_ "I'll go and see what's happening." She says. _

_ "But they'll assume--" the second girl stops herself, but it's clear what she was going to say. _

_ "I want the job." Says Callis. When the two of them stare wordlessly at her, she says it again; _

_ "I want the job. I'll take it." She pauses. "God knows that girl is going to need someone to take care of her." _

_ Slowly, they nod. _

* * *

_ The palace is eerily quiet, so the sound of Callis's servant's clumps on the stairs is especially jarring. She gets the impression everyone is trying to keep a low profile-- _

_ An impression that is confirmed when she meets Honora on the stairs. _

_ "Don't go up, she's raging." Hisses the kitchen maid.  _

_ "I'm the princess’s nursemaid." Says Callis. She leaves out the bit about her being the only willing candidate. _

_ Honora glances nervously over her shoulder.  _

_ "Well, she won't be happy to see you. She's been screaming at Stef-- er, the Prince." _

_ Callis doesn't comment on the slip. Vanessa has always liked to snatch things that were someone else's, first.  _

_ "I gathered." She says. "But the Princess, aren't they worried that she's ill?" _

_ "Yes, the Prince is… um… I mean, they both--" _

_ Honora is cut off by the sound of screaming, echoing from the tower above. _

_ Callis looks at Honora. Honora looks at Callis. _

_ "To hell with Vanessa." Mutters Callis, and runs, taking the stairs three at a time. _

* * *

_ She rushes up the stairs and gets into the royal suites disturbingly easily-- they dismissed the guards?-- and finds that the screaming is coming from the end of the hall. _

_ She hurries down the corridor, not sure what she's expecting to find. Vanessa being attacked? Vanessa fighting with Stefan? But there's only one person screaming, female, so that doesn't make sense… _

_ Then the sound of a baby crying reaches her ears, and she’s sprinting. _

_ She reaches the source and shoulders the door-- it’s unlocked-- and bursts into a large, well-lit room, painted pink. _

_ The nursery. _

_ Callis spins to find Vanessa cowering in the corner, clutching at wailing maid who appears to be the source of the screaming. What are they  _ **_doing--?_ **

_ Behind her, there’s a splintering sound, and the crying worsens. There’s the smell of smoke, too, acrid. _

_ Callis whirls. _

_ The cradle is in flames, blackened and scorched, and the bars are collapsing inwards as they burn, and, and-- _

_ And somewhere from within the whirling flames and collapsed, glowing embers of wood, is the sound of crying. _

_ Later, Callis would call Vanessa a thousand obscene names. Now, she doesn’t think. _

_ Callis lunges and plunges her hands into the embers, sweeping away the burning bars and snatching the princess from the flames. Adrenaline roaring, she doesn’t stop to think-- _

_ Not, at least, until her pain receptors catch up. _

_ Clutching the sobbing princess, Callis crumples to her knees, hands and arms searing, eyes watering, gasping for breath-- _

_ “Give her to me!”  _

_ Vanessa descends on her. Callis, thoughts muddied by the pain and the adrenaline, stares blankly at her.  _

_ “What--” _

_ Vanessa snatches the girl from her, elbows the maid out of the way, and rushes from the room. Callis slumps against the wall, shaking, holding her burnt hands away from her best she can. The frightened maid, the one who’d screamed, scampers over. Callis thinks her name is Lillibet. _

_ “Do you want some aloe--” _

_ “What happened?” croaks Callis. “Why didn’t either of you do anything?” _

_ “It-- it just happened. I don’t know. We came in, and it was on fire. Maybe it was too close to the fireplace, maybe it was a spark--” _

_ “Why didn’t you grab her?” interrupts Callis harshly. “Why didn’t either of you grab her?” _

_ Lillibet shoots a terrified glance at the door, then leans forwards, eyes wide. _

_ “She wouldn’t le--” _

_ The door flies open, and Vanessa is back, alone.  _

_ “Lillibet, go and inform Prince Stefan of what’s happened. I think he’s speaking to the… the well-wishers, outside.” _

_ Lillibet shoots Callis a frightened look, then curtsies and rushes out. Vanessa turns to Callis, who stares blankly back. _

_ “Who are you?” she demands. _

_ “Callis Netherwood, my lady.” croaks Callis. _

_ “Position?” _

_ “I’m currently working for the physician, but I applied to be the child’s nursemaid, my lady. I came up to ask what was happening.” _

_ Vanessa stares at her for a minute. Callis can practically see her weighing up the pros and cons. _

_ Then she says; _

_ “Well, you’ll do. I suppose. Get your arms seen to. I’ll send for you later.” _

_ She turns and shuffles out, scowling.  _

_ Callis stares unseeingly after her, because she’s just realised what Lillibet was going to say. _

**_She wouldn’t let me._ **

* * *

Agatha wakes up struggling to breathe.

Chest burning, she scrabbles to sit up, and finds herself dizzier than she expected. Still, she struggles out of bed in search of a handkerchief, trying not to wake anyone else up. She hopes this isn't going to be like last time. 

Maybe it’s just a cold. A chill.

Not that she’s ever  _ had  _ a cold or a chill. She’s not sure she  _ can.  _

But a cough, or something. Dust. It’s an old ship.

Holding her breath, she rifles through drawers, battling the urge to cough, leaning on the bedpost to stay upright. The floor's swaying slightly, but she got up pretty quickly. Besides, she's on a ship, so that's to be expected…

No.

No, that's too much for the ship.

It’s like last time.

She goes down so quickly and so violently, that her head catches the corner of the chest of drawers.

And then she's on her hands and knees on the floor and all thoughts of any other pain are forgotten; she’s heaving, chest spasming, coughing so hard she can taste blood. Gasping, she claws at her chest. Her throat's burning, lungs aching, and she-- she--

Agatha retches and hacks burning embers across the floorboards, and suddenly, she can't stop. She hunches on the floor, coughing and retching, embers and cinders and sparks scattering across the floorboards--

Something floats past, a dark mass in her tear-blurred vision, and it's smoke now, she's coughing up smoke, she can smell burning, and she thinks she might be setting her nightgown on fire, not that she really cares, or maybe it's the floorboards, her hands are always the hottest part of her, someone help her--

Something catches, and for a merciful few seconds, she manages to take a shuddering breath, and she thinks it's passed, slumping on her back onto the floor… but no, she's retching again, more smoke, more… more...

Familiar callused hands close around her shoulders, and Callis has arrived. 

" _ Help me _ ." Chokes Agatha, clutching desperately at Callis's skirt. But she's already prepared. This has happened before and Callis knows how to stop it, now.

Agatha realises slightly too late.

"No, no, not that, please--"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I have to, it’s the only way, come on--"

"No--" moans Agatha, but Callis is determined. She has to practically drag her, but she gets her into the bathroom, wrestles her into the bathtub and under the taps-- Agatha sobs--

Callis turns the faucet on full blast.

Agatha shrieks in pain and scrabbles back against the deluge of icy water, but Callis is stronger, especially now, and holds her under it for what feels like eons, but can only be ten seconds--

Callis snaps the water off.

Agatha gags, turns over, and throws up. Sobbing, she vomits until there's nothing left to give, and she's retching dry. Only then does she realise she can breathe again. There's no more smoke, no more cinders, nothing.

A hand closes around hers, and Agatha collapses back into Callis's arms, soaked and shaking. Everything is burning and itching and aching. She thinks Callis might be saying something, but she can’t hear her--

She realises Callis is trying to pull her out of the tub, and scrabbles vaguely in the correct direction, until she’s lying on the floor and Callis is trying to towel her hair dry--

“You’ve cut your head.” says Callis.

Agatha had forgotten about that. 

“Fell.” she says faintly. Carefully, Callis probes the cut, but it must not be too deep, because she doesn’t seem worried. 

“You’ll have a black eye.” she tells her, smoothing her fringe gently back over it. Agatha lifts one shoulder.

“I know, the veil covers it.” sighs Callis. “But, still.”

There’s a pause. Agatha is starting to shake harder.

“I’ll get you a change of clothes.” Callis gets up, and Agatha puts her throbbing head against the floorboards and closes her eyes.

* * *

When she comes back to her senses, she realises Callis is prying her soaked nightgown off of her. Shakily, she attempts to help, but there's nothing much she can do, so she just shifts when required and lets Callis replace it with something dry.

"That's so dangerous." Callis says finally, sitting down on the soaked floor next to her. “If there was a better way, I'd do it, but I can't find one--"

“It’s fine.” mumbles Agatha. Callis is petting her hair absently, and her voice sounds steady, but Agatha can feel her hands shaking. "I know.”

"There has to be a better way to cool it down." Says Callis firmly. "I'll find one. I will."

Agatha doesn't have the strength or the inclination to argue with her, so she doesn't say anything. It's times like this when she realises how young Callis actually is. She was only 18 when she was appointed as Agatha's nursemaid, and won't be 37 until October. She's younger than Vanessa, and much prettier, even though she looks wan and tired in the vague glow of the oil lamp, and her hair has always looked too harshly black.

Finally, something occurs to Agatha.

"I'm not burning you, am I, I've got to be--"

She tries to sit up, but Callis stops her.

"No, it's fine, you're not. Don't try and move on your own."

She's obviously lying, but Agatha can't really stand up on her own, so she doesn't do anything.

She can feel Callis's skirt scorching under her hand, though. 

* * *

When Agatha finally gets back to her bed, Sophie is hovering in the doorway, staring anxiously. She must have heard Callis get up. Or maybe she heard Agatha crying. 

"'m fine." Says Agatha quickly. Sophie shoots an anxious glance at Callis, who raises her eyebrows at her, and creeps across the room to clamber onto Agatha's bed with her. Callis finishes kicking the ash under the chest of drawers, and comes to join them. 

There's a long pause. They watch the sea skim by out the small window.

"I hope he's handsome." Says Sophie suddenly. Agatha rests her forehead against the cool glass. It won't stay cool for long. 

"I bet he's not." She says.

"They've always said he's very handsome." Says Callis braiding a tiny piece of Agatha's hair. Agatha shoots her an incredulous look.

"You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't think you cared." 

"You mean you know whether he's a bald old man or not?" Demands Agatha. "Of course I care!"

"He's seventeen, Agatha."

"He's  _ younger _ than me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you were entertaining yourself fine with your fatalistic fantasies." Says Callis, amused. "No, he's not some bald old man. He's seventeen, he's very handsome, and everyone is very jealous of you."

"Oh." Agatha frowns. "Well, I never saw a portrait of him."

"No, I don't think the Queen wanted you to."

"Not that you ever asked for one." Says Sophie.

"Never thought to!"

"Didn't  _ care _ to." Mutters Sophie. But Agatha is scowling, now.

"Actually, that's  _ worse _ . He'll be a peacock. A brat. Or maybe he's mad, or sickly. Or a murderer or something. No  _ way _ Mother would marry me off to him if he was perfect. She'd probably try and get him herself. Why should I have a handsome rich, perfect husband?" 

Callis snorts. 

Sophie looks scandalised.

"Who cares if he's  _ sickly _ , Aggie? He's rich and handsome!"

"Who's supposed to stop me hacking my lungs up if he's bedridden?" Demands Agatha. Sophie and Callis both make disapproving noises, which Agatha ignores. She flops back onto her bed, scowling. “Come on. You  _ know  _ there has to be a catch.”

Callis doesn’t correct her, which means she agrees. Sophie doesn’t say anything, but that usually means she  _ disagrees _ and just can’t think of how to argue with her. 

Agatha prepares herself for a vaguely insulting topic change in three… two…

“Why do you wear these  _ ghastly  _ old things?” demands Sophie suddenly, leaning forwards to pluck at Agatha’s shapeless black nightgown. “Don’t you have any  _ proper  _ nightclothes?”

Agatha shrugs, ignoring how Sophie is pointedly trying to show off her own silken nightgown.

“Just for sleeping, aren’t they? Don’t need to be anything special.”

“What about when you’re  _ married?” _

“Pretty sure that will be relatively low down on his highness’s list of problems with his shiny new bride.” says Agatha.

Sophie frowns.

“What on earth could be above proper fashion?”

“Uhh, facial scarring? Being ugly? Not knowing how to shave my legs? Ooh... the  _ fire magic?” _

Sophie glances back at Agatha’s face, and Agatha dislikes how similar it is to the short, unimpressed looks that Vanessa tends to shoot her way whenever she’s unveiled. Ah, facial scarring. Another sin to add to the  _ why Vanessa hates Agatha  _ list. Not that it was  _ Agatha’s  _ fault that the cradle collapsed on her face. Not as if she  _ told _ the universe to cut her face so it pulled her mouth down slightly and slashed the side of her already-crooked nose. 

“The scarring isn’t that bad.” Sophie says, unconvincingly.

“Mm.” says Agatha.

“Besides, if he really loves you, that shouldn’t matter.”

Agatha barks out a startled laugh and sits up.

“ _ Loves  _ me? It’s an arranged marriage!”

Sophie sniffs.

“ _ Some  _ people are believers in love at first sight.”

“What  _ sight _ ?” gripes Agatha. “He won’t see my face until he’s legally obliged to snog me at the wedding.”

“Well,  _ maybe _ , Agatha _ , _ if you make a bit of effort _ ,  _ he’ll fall in love with your  _ personality _ .”

Agatha laughs so hard she falls off the bed.

* * *

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” says Callis, later, after Sophie’s retreated to ensure she doesn’t get dark circles or puffy eyes. Priorities.

Agatha looks at her out of the corner of her eye.

“I consider it a warm-up for Camelot.”

“No one can  _ say _ things like that to the Queen’s face.” points out Callis. She leans over to her. “Just wait until you’re married, then off everyone who’s mean to you.”

Agatha cackles.

“What, you get torn apart by horses if you say I’m nothing less than absolutely radiant?”

“Make it a scale. You get flogged for saying you don’t look like Vanessa, and you get torn apart by horses for mentioning facial scarring.”

“Oh, I thought you were quoting from the Gavaldon laws for a moment, then.” says Agatha. Callis smothers a snort and Agatha grins at the ceiling, watching the lamp swing to and fro. Slowly, her smile fades.

“The King can still say that sort of thing, though.” she says.

“He won’t.” says Callis. “I won’t let him.”

Agatha opens her mouth to laugh it off, but finds that she can’t. Instead, she looks over at Callis, who’s leaning against the window. 

“He’s just some kid.” says Callis. “No matter how fancy he looks, he’s young. Younger than  _ you,  _ even. He’ll just be some pretty kid playing a game too big for him.”

She looks down at Agatha.

“Maybe that’s the catch.” she says. “Maybe he’s a puppet.”

“Maybe.” Agatha murmurs. 

There’s a pause. 

“You should go to bed.” says Agatha. “You’re tired.”

Callis doesn’t argue, just nods slowly and slides past Agatha’s legs, smoothing her hair back in farewell as she does so. Agatha sits up to let her pass, and, almost absentmindedly, slides her hand into the lamp, and plucks the tiny flame from the wick, letting it roll across her palm. 

Callis stops at the door.

“Agatha?”

Agatha looks up, winding the flame between her fingers. Callis is staring at her hand.

“Use it against him. If you have to.”

Then she’s gone, padding back down the corridor to her cabin. 

Agatha looks down at her hand, and flexes her fingers.

The flame leaps, twists, and spreads, sliding down her wrist and across her forearm. As she manipulates it more, the veins in her hand and arm slowly begin to glow, shining rich and orange through her skin, making her skin look papery and translucent.

Agatha gazes at her arm for a moment.

Then, slowly, she constricts the flame back down, and returns it to the lamp. The glow in her veins dies down, as it always does when she stops using her power, and they return to normal.

She flops back onto her bed, and, as she does so, she notices that Callis has left both Agatha’s door and her own open. 

Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't remember who it was that said, in their review of the last chapter, that they wanted to see more of agatha's powers... I had already written the first part of this chapter then and uh,,, yeah. yay magic...?


	4. camelot

Agatha has already had a terrible trip, so a pre-arrival breakfast with Vanessa where she feels too unwell to eat anything is not making her feel any better. 

It seems that absolutely nothing to do with sea travel agrees with her; she developed raging seasickness overnight, and spent most of yesterday being sick. 

Maybe she'll outlaw boats when she's Queen. 

"What happened to your face?" Demands Vanessa the second Agatha slumps in her chair.

At least spending all of yesterday being sick meant that she hadn't had to see her mother.

"Fell and smacked my head on a chest of drawers." Mutters Agatha, scanning the food for something she could stomach. She doesn't think Vanessa much cares what actually happened to her, so a vague answer ought to stuffice.

"Well, be more careful." Snaps Vanessa, proving Agatha's theory. 

"Not like I did it on  _ purpose _ ." Mumbles Agatha.

"Stop neglecting your veil." Vanessa tells her sharply, by way of reply, then turns back to her plate of fruit.

Agatha glares at the pastries she feels too sick to eat. The pastries do nothing.

She decides that they're mocking her and sinks down in her chair, messily pouring a cup of over-brewed tea and waving away Callis's offerings of milk.

Vanessa glares at the spilled tea seeping into the tablecloth. Agatha blots it half-heartedly with a napkin and sits back to take tiny sips from the mug, resenting that it would hurt too much to chug the entire thing in one go. It would be worth it, to see Vanessa's face, but she'd rather not spend the next hour passed out. 

Not, obviously, because it's too hot; but more because drinking too much at once is painful. She's never tested the theory that she can go without water entirely-- mainly because Callis won't let her try-- but she certainly doesn't need it in the same way everyone else does. But she likes tea, and coffee, and those fruit juices that the girls at the market sell, so she drinks anyway, albeit incredibly slowly.

Sophie is slicing an apple into tiny pieces opposite her, and Callis isn't eating anything, presumably in solidarity. 

"How long until we get there?" Asks Sophie brightly, cutting into the awkward silence. Vanessa smiles at her. 

"The city should be coming into view around now, according to the captain. We'll be docked in an hour or so. Isn’t it exciting--?”

Agatha stands up abruptly.

"I'm going to look." She says. Vanessa frowns.

"Your veil--"

"Who's going to see me? We're an hour away. Besides, I'd like to look with unobscured eyes, thanks."

Agatha turns and makes for the stairs before Vanessa can stop her.

* * *

It's so early that the sun's not properly breached the mountains to the east, yet. 

Agatha leans against the mast in the cool, dim morning and watches Camelot come into view, slowly being unveiled by the early morning mist. 

It's bigger than Gavaldon, is her first realisation.  _ Far _ bigger. Sprawling masses of mismatched buildings stretch in every direction, tumbling over each other in crooked stacks of brick until they trail off into the distance and disappear. Occasionally a church spire or higher roof interrupts the uniform mess, a landmark in what must be a labyrinth of twisting streets. There are a huge variety of ships in the harbour, too, all flying different colours; Jaunt Jolie, Foxwood, Hamelin…

It makes sense, Agatha supposes. Camelot is a massive trading hub, and has a surplus of natural resources, which is why it's so rich. But it's a shock, given Gavaldon is a tiny kingdom in the middle of nowhere, paid little attention by anyone.

However Vanessa had secured a marriage alliance, she had to have put something very important on the table.

The thought makes Agatha grimace-- what had she offered?-- but her musings are interrupted as she realises Callis is stood behind her.

"No coughing this morning?" She asks.

Agatha shakes her head slowly.

"Nothing since the other night. I think it's getting less frequent, but it's getting worse."

Callis doesn't say anything, for a minute. Agatha knows she's right. It used to be just clearing her throat, the occasional cinder, when she was younger. 

Not exactly life-threatening level, like it had just been.

"When you turned over, right before I got you in the bath…" begins Callis slowly. Then she stops. Agatha raises her eyebrows at her.

"What?"

Callis hesitates, then touches a finger briefly to Agatha's neck.

"Your windpipe was glowing. It's never done that before."

Agatha frowns.

"My veins--"

"I know your veins do it. The ones in your neck and shoulders do it a lot when you cough. But this time, it was your windpipe, not just the veins around it."

Agatha decides not to comment on how weird that must have looked.

"Doesn't make sense." She murmurs, turning her eyes back to Camelot on the horizon. "Usually it only affects veins."

"I know--" Callis stops whatever she was about to say. 

"What?" Presses Agatha.

Callis points.

Agatha follows her gaze.

At first, she thinks she’s pointing at the palace emerging from the mist. It’s certainly nothing to sniff at; twice the size and twice as elaborate as Vanessa’s, it’s a cluster of spearing turrets and--

Agatha realises that Callis isn’t looking there.

Slowly, she follows her gaze down. Down… down...

To the crowd at the harbour. 

For a minute, she wonders if they’re just passers-by. Sailors. Traders. That sort of thing. But no. It’s a huge crowd, stretching from the very edge of the docks, all the way back to the buildings lining the harbour.

It’s all too obvious what they’re there for. 

Callis starts to say something, but Agatha has already turned and lunged for the stairs belowdecks, panic crushing her insides--

She runs into straight into Vanessa, who holds out a piece of fabric.

Agatha’s veil.

Agatha snatches it from her and barges past her, bursting into her cabin and slamming the door shut. She leans against it, breathing hard. That old  _ hag _ . She had to have known. No wonder she’d let her go up. Hell, she’d probably made their arrival time public knowledge, so Agatha couldn’t even get up to the  _ palace  _ unnoticed.

Vanessa starts talking outside;

“Did you see the size of the crowds, Sophie? It’s so lovely that so many people have come to greet us…”

Oh. Right.

How could she have been so vain as to think that Vanessa would have considered her likes  _ or  _ dislikes? Vanessa loves the attention to be in  _ her _ . She flounces and flutters and waves and simpers. This isn't about Agatha.  _ Agatha _ had been an afterthought, if she'd been a thought at all. No, this is all about the Radiant Queen herself. (God, how Agatha loathes that moniker. She sneers every time they say it, and the veil means she can get away with it. It's a small comfort.) 

_ They'll probably think she's the one marrying Tedros, _ thinks Agatha wryly. Well, maybe they'd be a good fit for each other, if Tedros was as handsome as they said. Hah.

Still, there's no changing the fact that Tedros is betrothed to  _ Agatha _ . Vanessa can wave and smile and kiss babies all she wants. 

She'll never be their Queen.

They've got Agatha, for better or for worse.

* * *

So when she emerges to  _ cheering _ , she's somewhat confused.

Having people actually enthusiastic to see her is something of a novel prospect for Agatha. 

At home, her public appearances are usually limited to the New Year's Ball (everyone gets drunk, forgets she's there, and talks about her in front of her) her birthday, (the less said about  _ that _ , the better)  _ Vanessa's _ birthdays (official and personal, both unbearable) and the Midsummer Parade (she's overheated and fainted three times now. That damned veil.) 

The people of Gavaldon are  _ used _ to her. It does not mean that they  _ like _ her. Obviously, they're unsettled by the whole  _ never getting to see their Princess's face  _ thing; they can't tell whether she's smiling at them or not, they don't know where she's looking, and they don't know what she looks like. 

Of course, they’d never think ill of  _ Vanessa  _ (apart from the small number of conspiracy theorists who decided Agatha has died / been kidnapped and subsequently replaced), so the vast majority of the public have decided that it’s  _ her  _ choice to wear the veil, and have developed two elaborate theories about it--

The cheering goes up in volume as she reaches the gangplank, and she jerks out of her thoughts, startled. This is new. She’s not sure she likes it.

Anxiously, she peers down at the throng, who stare back at her. People are smiling, but there’s also a good percentage of people frowning, confused, and some people are turning to whisper to neighbours--

Agatha anxiously casts around for something else to look at-- what’s taking Vanessa so long?

There’s a carriage just where they’ll disembark, open top, oh, god, they’ll be stared at the whole way there, she’d not stopped to consider this, and--

“Wave.”

Agatha jumps and turns to see Callis stood behind her. 

“Wha--”

“Wave.” repeats Callis as Vanessa comes marching up the stairs in a garish yellow dress. “To the people. They’ll love it.” she leans in slightly. “And Vanessa will hate it.”

Agatha would usually laugh, but she feels too ill to, this time. And she doesn't think it's the seasickness.

Shakily, she lifts a hand and offers the crowd a tentative wave. 

Cheering. People wave back.

Relieved, Agatha waves a little more enthusiastically--

Vanessa bustles up to her, puts out an arm, clamps Agatha to her side, and  _ beams _ . Waving regally, she practically frog-marches Agatha down the gangplank to the cobbles, probably blinding the people at the front with the force of her smile.

A footman in blue and gold livery leaps down from the back of the carriage and offers her a hand. Agatha stares at him, confused, until he indicates the carriage.

"A hand, my lady?"

Agatha blinks.

"Oh! Thank you."

No one's ever bothered to help her into a carriage before. 

Feeling slightly smug that  _ she'd _ been the priority, not Vanessa, Agatha clambers into the carriage and peers out the other side at the cluster of faces staring up at her, careful to make sure she didn't lean too far. People being able to see under her veil is one of Vanessa's biggest fears. She's forever pulling her backwards.

"Princess! Princess Agatha!"

Agatha turns to see a chubby hand emerge from the throng, clutching a few spindly blue flowers. One has a broken stem.

Agatha follows the arm down to an eager little face in the crowd; a girl, probably only five or six beaming with gappy teeth and scrunched eyes. She's being held up by an older girl, probably thirteen, presumably her older sister, who's eyes are big and interested. 

"Agatha." Hisses Vanessa, arriving in a cloud of yellow tulle. "Don't you dare lean--"

Agatha leans over the side to take them from her.

"Thank you." 

The girl squeals excitedly and grabs her hand. Agatha's heart flounders, but she's wearing her gloves, so it'll be fine, it'll be fine...

Agatha squeezes her hand lightly, and carefully pries her hand from her grip. The girl doesn't look bothered, just grins and allows her sister to return her to the ground. 

Suddenly, Agatha finds herself bombarded with people offering flowers, plants and…

"Wow, thanks--" Agatha eagerly takes a packet of some odd pink sweets, turns, and finds Vanessa staring at her with a very fixed smile.

"Stop accepting gifts." She hisses through her teeth. "They might be dangerous."

Yeah, Agatha's sure that's why she doesn't want her to have them.

"Right." She says, still waving vaguely, and noticing the conspicuously empty seats opposite them. "Who's coming with us?"

"The servants will travel separately." Says Vanessa.

"Even--"

"Lady Netherwood is still a servant, and she is not related to you." Says Vanessa tightly.

Agatha casts around desperately, and sees Callis stood with Sophie by the ships, watching her. 

She has to go without Callis--?

Callis smiles at her, but Agatha can tell it's forced. 

Agatha would be biting her nails if she wasn't gloved and veiled. Anxiety giving way to actual panic, she turns back to stare at the gifts in her lap. She miraculously hasn't crushed any flowers.

Vanessa ignores her distress, and turns expectantly to the driver.

"To the palace. My daughter needs to be presented to the King."

* * *

Except she's not.

Not right away.

Agatha swears loudly as the remains of her leg hair is torn off in one go. Beatrix, the first of the two maids, looks rather apologetic. She's blonde and tall and handsome, and has already accidentally scratched Agatha twice with her perfect manicure.

"Sorry. Orders from your mother."

"My  _ mother _ told you to pluck me like a chicken to be roasted?" Snaps Agatha, then regrets the choice of simile when her stomach rumbles. She wishes she could have eaten those sweets, but Vanessa had snatched them off her before she'd got the chance.

Beatrix nods, rosebud lips pursed in concentration.

"Yes, she gave these really detailed instructions-- can you be a bit less hot, please?-- and said if we didn't follow them she'd be  _ displeased _ ." 

She snatches a pair of tweezers from a box and squints at Agatha's leg for any stray hairs. Agatha can't see the point, given she's probably going to be wearing stockings, but she's too tired and stressed to argue. She attempts to lower her body temperature and watches the second maid re-enter, arms stacked high with bottles and boxes and pots. This one, Dot, is short and plump and infinitely enthusiastic, with curly brown hair bullied into a topknot and chocolate concealed in every pocket. 

They've been appointed by King Tedros to be her personal maids, apparently, and therefore Vanessa has briefed them extensively on Agatha's…  _ condition _ . Agatha doesn't know exactly what she told them, but based on their faces before and after she took her veil off, they'd expected much worse.

Naturally.

Damn her.

Beatrix yanks Agatha to her feet and squints at her. Agatha tries not to feel awkward, but considering she's naked in a strange bathroom with two strangers staring at her, it's hard. 

Still, they'd had the sense to let her wash her own hair and run her a very shallow, very hot, bath, so they couldn't be  _ so _ bad. 

"You're ever so tall." Says Dot appreciatively, eyeing her in the mirror. "So angular."

Agatha, who had tended to favour words like  _ scrawny _ , reluctantly stares at herself in the mirror and tries to work out whether Dot is making fun of her or not.  _ Angular _ is generous; her knobbly knees, bony hips and skinny arms make her look scrawny and pinched. She's also remarkably sallow for someone so heavily involved with fire, and her blunt, badly cut hair makes her chin stick out and her eyes look protuberant. 

Not to mention the scars. 

"Mm." She says vaguely, eyeing the side of her mouth that drags down and the dint across her crooked nose and cheek. There's more, but she lets her fringe grow long to cover them.

Dot looks disappointed, as if she hadn't received the reaction she was expecting, and turns to rifle through the pile she'd brought in. 

"Don't suppose we need to do your face or hair…" muses Beatrix, eyes surprisingly not lingering on the twisted side of Agatha's mouth as she examines her. "Maybe a haircut anyway?"

Agatha finds herself staring hopefully at Beatrix's pixie cut. Neither she nor Callis are exactly hairdressers. They just try and keep it short, and Agatha gives her fringe a wobbly, uneven trim when she starts not being able to see.

Beatrix grins. 

* * *

Dot does her nails whilst Beatrix does her hair.

"What's the point of a pedicure?" Demands Agatha, staring warily as Dot grabs one of her feet. "Shoes are a thing."

"It's  _ nice _ ." Protests Dot. "Like a spa thing."

"Hmm." 

Dot ignores her scepticism.

"So!" She says brightly. "Are you excited to meet the King and get married?"

"Er." Says Agatha, trying to work out if saying  _ no _ would offend them or not. "Well. That's a… um, a big question."

"I suppose it is." Muses Dot, doing something mildly painful to Agatha's toenails. "Well, you shouldn't be worried, we love Teddy, don't we Bea?"

_ Oh, god, they've got a nickname for him. _

Beatrix snorts.

"I had a huge crush on him for a bit."

Dot raises her eyebrows.

"Didn't you say, at the time, that you wanted to kill his betrothed?"

Agatha suddenly wishes Beatrix wasn't holding scissors right next to her neck, but Beatrix just laughs.

"Well, I was thirteen, and that was before I was with Reena. It was an obligatory forced crush. Can you tip your head a bit, please?"

Relieved, Agatha does as she's told. Dot nods slowly.

"We've been appointed to you, but we work for Teddy too. Similar stuff."

_ So he's vain, is he? _ thinks Agatha glumly. This is not making her feel better. If he's very bothered about his own appearance, it feels highly unlikely he won't care about what his  _ wife _ looks like.

* * *

By the time they're finished, Agatha thinks she can understand why perfumed princesses spend all day lounging. Being prepped this extensively feels like an extreme sport. She's been shaved, waxed, and plucked, had her nails and nail beds bullied and shaped until they look even vaguely uniform, slathered in all sorts of soaps and creams and lotions, and had half her hair cut off.

And almost all of it isn't even going to be  _ visible _ .

She'd pointed this out, but they'd just muttered something about orders from Vanessa and carried on.

Well, Agatha entertains herself with visions of  _ drowning _ Vanessa, possibly in a vat of perfume, whilst Beatrix and Dot lace her into whatever dress the King has ordered her. She hadn't focused at all on what people were wearing when she arrived, too busy worrying about a million other things. Now she wishes she had. There's always a possibility she could be forced to wear something ridiculous--

"There!" Dot stops wrestling with the laces and steps back, beaming. "Do you like it?"

Agatha reluctantly turns her eyes to the mirror.

She's greeted with black velvet. 

High-necked and wide sleeved, the skirt is sweeping and far fuller than she usually opts for, but she finds she can't bring herself to care. Hundreds of strings of tiny pearls wrap around the high neckline and fall to the waist, where they secure as a kind of belt, and then drop in thinner lines to rest on the line of of the skirt. There's slits in the puffed top of the sleeves and the skirt, where silver silk peeks through the velvet, and similar silver embroidery adorns the sides of the bodice. When she shifts, so does the amount of silver you can see, so the light flashes and dances and shifts as she moves. 

Agatha stares, enchanted. She's never seen anything like it before. The fashion at home is sleek and simple and stylish. Something so elaborate is practically unheard of.

Sophie will be  _ lime  _ with jealousy.

"Yes." She says faintly, running her hand across the velvet absently. "I do."

"Great!" Dot comes bounding forwards, holding a headpiece. "They redesigned your veil to go with it, try it on--"

Oh. She's got a new veil. 

Agatha takes it and squints at it. The actual veil is the same-- heavy silk, enchanted to be impossible to see through-- but the headpiece is raised and angled, and made of the same kind of velvet as her dress, with pearls along the bottom and top edge. The veil falls on both sides. 

"It means we don't have to do your makeup." Says Beatrix, helping her secure it on her head. "Which is a shame, because the makeup here is really interesting. You'll see some when you meet the King, he and his court all favour the latest fashions…"

Agatha, face now covered, grimaces freely.

Then she notices the implication.

"Aren't you from here?" She asks, confused. Beatrix shakes her head.

"Jaunt Jolie. I was offered a job in the King's court when I was fifteen."

"Why?"

Beatrix smiles.

"I was very good with cosmetics, and they needed me for… certain things. Dot too, she's from Sherwood, originally. There!"

Agatha doesn't have time to dwell on that, because Beatrix steps back and Dot snatches Agatha's gloves from the side table. Agatha pulls them on, relieved they haven't done anything to the familiarity of her gloves.

"Ooh, don't forget your ring--" Dot holds out the dragon ring that Agatha had been trying very hard to forget about.

"Oh. Yeah." She says. She shoves it on at random on her middle finger, and turns to find Dot staring at her.

"What?" She says.

"Don't you dare ask her." Mutters Beatrix.

"Ask me what?" 

Agatha, anticipating a tentative _ what happened to your face _ , desperately tries to think of a way to explain it--

"Can you do a tiny bit of magic before you go?" Peeps Dot.

" _ Dot _ ." Hisses Beatrix. 

Agatha stares at her. Dot twiddles her thumbs sheepishly.

"Just because you won't be able to do it in public or in court, if it's such a big secret. I just wanted to see, I think it's ever so interesting--"

"You can't just  _ ask _ her that!" Barks Beatrix. "It might be dangerous, or hurt her, or something, you know that--"

They turn to find Agatha with only one glove on, plucking the flames from the candelabra and rolling them around in her palm like marbles. 

Dot stares, eyes so wide it's a wonder they don't fall out.

" _ Wow _ ." She says, reverently. Beatrix considers the glowing veins in her hand with interest. 

"I know." Says Agatha, following her gaze and replacing the tiny flames on their wicks. "It's weird."

"Not really." Says Beatrix. She sounds oddly sincere. Agatha shrugs and replaces her glove.

It's her most common trick, too. The one she’d done the other night. Flames which already exist and are already restricted are far easier to control. Summoning something up herself is more dangerous, and a lot harder to do in the first place.

"Well," she says. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't wear these."

As if on cue, the door bashes open, and Vanessa is stood there, still in her garish yellow gown.

"Ready?" She demands. She makes no comment on Agatha's appearance, obviously. 

Agatha goes to say  _ yes _ , but nothing comes out. The answer is very much  _ no.  _ All this stalling and dithering has made her feel  _ worse _ , instead of more prepared.

Panicked, she casts a glance back at her two new maids, who beam at her. How can they be so calm?

"You'll like him!" Says Dot brightly. "He's nice, I promise."

Beatrix doesn't comment, but she doesn't look as if she disagrees. 

Agatha can't say she believes them. 

"Well?" Demands Vanessa. Agatha turns reluctantly back to her.

"Yes." She says hoarsely. "Shall we go?"

As they leave, Dot and Beatrix curtseying in their wake, the veins in her wrist are still glowing faintly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the unoriginal chapter titles lmao I'm too tired to think of good ones, usually I only make the effort with alex vs hfsjkhf


	5. king tedros

Agatha doesn't receive as friendly a reception inside the castle as she had outside.

Whilst Beatrix and Dot had been perfectly enthusiastic, they seem to be the exception, not the rule. The corridors are busy and bustling, and as Agatha hurries after her mother-- Vanessa does not seem to care if Agatha can keep up or not-- almost every person they encounter stops to stare, or whisper to their companion, or point, or do all three. They aren't smiling. Expressions vary from confusion to suspicion to outright hostility, but no one smiles.

Agatha bites her cheek and tries to distract herself by staring at other things.

The guards escorting them are lightly armoured, dressed in red livery with that coiled dragon emblem on the chest. Agatha would guess, from the shimmering gold band embroidered around their necklines, that they're some kind of specially trained and vetted royal guard. They're completely po-faced as they walk, and clearly perfectly trained. Every one of them stares straight ahead, too, flanking them in a perfect formation. Agatha, who is used to slightly slapdash guards cracking jokes, feels oddly oppressed, and looks quickly away from their blank faces.

The palace itself is, as she'd guessed, far superior to Vanessa's. Richly embroidered tapestries, golden gilding on wood and glass, staircases that swoop and dive out of sight. Stained glass windows of ancient kings on noble quests. Burning torches adorn the walls at frequent intervals, and Agatha, tired and stressed, tries to stop and draw some power from the flames, forgetting the presence of the guards. Vanessa grabs her and yanks her on. 

Huge paintings and elaborate marble statues fill the gaps between them… it goes on. Agatha could have spent all day in just two or three of these corridors, examining every piece of art, but she's marched stoically onwards. Scowling, she stares at her feet, and realises as she does so, that they hadn't given her any new shoes. She's still wearing her boots, exact replica's of Callis and the other servant's. She'd insisted on wearing them when she was younger, to match Callis, and had never seen the point of different shoes. These were far more practical.

They were not, however, approved of by Vanessa.

Hurriedly, Agatha takes smaller steps, letting her gown cover her feet properly. Given she usually strides, this takes some concentration, and as a result, she doesn't notice that Vanessa has stopped until she nearly walks into her. 

Confused, she looks up--

And is greeted with a huge pair of gilded double doors.

They’re here. 

Panic spikes so hard and fast in her gut that she doubles over, but Vanessa turns to her, sweet and smiling in the presence of the guards.

“Stand up straight, sweetheart. Don’t be nervous.” 

Agatha jerks back upright, furious. So. She wanted to take Callis’s favoured pet name for Agatha, did she? Wanted to be an adoring mother when it was convenient?

Glaring under her veil, Agatha mumbles assent and grabs onto Vanessa’s arm. It seems perfectly innocent to anyone watching-- distressed daughter looking for comfort-- but she feels Vanessa flinch.

Agatha knows she won’t burn her. The gloves do their job. But close proximity to her becomes uncomfortable after a while, and Vanessa knows she can’t shake her off without looking callous. 

She can’t scowl, but Agatha knows she wants to. She can see her mouth pinching, slightly--

Which rearranges into an accommodating smile as a tall young man in white gloves steps smartly out of a side door.

“The King will see you now.” he says brisky, and indicates the boys on the doors in front of them, who scurry to push the great oak doors open. Someone shouts from within;

“Her Majesty Queen Vanessa of Gavaldon, and her daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Agatha!”

And Agatha is paraded into the throne room on Vanessa’s arm, wishing desperately that it was Callis with her instead.

* * *

She’s almost immediately distracted by more decor. 

She's not supposed to look anywhere but straight ahead-- she knows that much-- but she has the advantage of a covered face. So while Vanessa marches along with her eyes straight, Agatha is stealing glances at carved pillars, half a dozen elaborate chandeliers, ceilings painted with sweeping murals, intricate engravings…

The floor is smooth and equally elaborately decorated, to the extent where she feels as if it’s wrong to walk on it, let alone in her old boots. It’s so polished that falling over on it is a significant worry. She’s glad they didn’t give her heels. 

Scattered around the room, clusters of finely-dressed courtiers watch their approach. They are in the presence of the King, so they can’t whisper-- not about his betrothed-- but Agatha can tell they desperately want to. Vanessa gets a cursory glance at the most. All eyes are tracking the black veil. 

Trying not to hunch over, as she usually does when she’s embarrassed, Agatha casts around for something else to focus on, and finds herself staring back at the courtiers. Beatrix hadn’t been wrong when she’d mentioned that the makeup trends were interesting, here. One woman is sporting tiny golden stars painted all over her cheeks and nose, like freckles. Another has shining gems plated across her eyelids, like armour, so she shimmers and winks as she blinks. The man stood with her has green vines painted down the side of his face, sprouting the smallest of ruby flowers, with lipstick to match the blooms. It’s fascinating. At home, people would only wear these sorts of things as parts of costumes. Looking as if you're wearing no makeup at all is far more popular--

Vanessa stops, suddenly, and shakes her off her arm. Agatha stumbles to a halt, caught off guard--

Then spies the steps in front of her.

Vanessa curtsies deeply, eyes lowered to the bottom of the dais. Clumsily, Agatha copies her.

Vanessa never took her on trips abroad, so she’d never encountered another royal in their home court. The most she’d ever had to deal with was the bumbling Prince of Hamelin at their New Year’s Ball.

Now, she’s beginning to realise that she has basically no grasp of a huge swathe of necessary etiquette.

Cursing Vanessa (and herself) for neglecting it, she straightens back up as her mother does, and her mother beams.

“Your majesty,” she coos in her special  _ I’m trying so hard to look like a good person  _ voice. “What an honour it is to meet you at last! May I present my daughter, Princess Agatha?”

Slowly, Agatha raises her eyes. 

* * *

His Majesty King Tedros of Camelot looks, Agatha thinks, like a china doll.

Dressed in a set of scarlet silks bound at the throat and wrists and waist by delicate gold and ruby links, he sits stiffly in his throne, as if he’s been carefully positioned there, white-gloved hands set lightly on the armrests. He looks ready to snatch them away at any second.

His face is handsome in that it’s unsettlingly perfect. It could have been painted on, Agatha thinks. A romanticist’s fantasy. Big, blue eyes with long lashes. Straight nose. Full pink lips and high, sharp cheekbones. Completely unblemished skin, perfectly shaped eyebrows. His hair is thick and gold, loosely curled and falling effortlessly in the right places. An elaborate golden crown drips gems and tiny gold chains across his marble forehead. He even has perfect circles of pink in his cheeks, like dolls do. Mimicking life. 

Uncomfortable-- for there is something about the flawless face and the feeling she gets from it, that’s odd-- Agatha stares silently at Tedros on the dais, feeling as if she's admiring a prized collectors item sat on a shelf. He stares back. 

Yes, he probably had hundreds of portraits. How wonderful it would be to paint a face like that. He must have every painter in the west of the Woods clamouring to even get to sketch it.

For a second, no one says a word, and Agatha is just starting to wonder if she ought to say something, picking through her vague memory of protocol--

When Tedros smiles.

Agatha can’t help but sag a little in relief. At least he’ll tolerate her presence. His smile is slightly forced, and tinged with confusion, but it makes him look a thousand times more animated, and is a lot less insincere than she’d expected. 

_ Maybe he knew as little as I did,  _ she thinks.

“I’m honoured, your highness.” he says. Agatha thinks back to the letter and wonders if he always talks like that. She hopes he doesn’t. The formality would be stifling. Tedros’s eyes dart to her face and away again, then back. He leans forward a little. “Er, may I ask--”

Good, decorum slipping.

Wait, what was he going to--

“She prefers to remain veiled at all times.” interrupts Vanessa immediately, anticipating the question. “It is no insult, I promise you. It has always been the case. It is merely a preference due to… ah,  _ specific _ circumstances.”

“...I see.” Tedros seems unsettled, still, and Agatha cringes internally, wondering what type of conclusions he’s coming to--

“Why doesn’t the Princess speak for herself?” demands someone from behind Tedros. Agatha follows the voice to see a spindly, weasel-faced boy, barely older than Tedros, lurking behind Tedros’s throne. He’s glancing suspiciously between Agatha and Vanessa. 

“Peace, Lord Scourie.” murmurs Tedros, and Scourie does as he’s told, but Tedros doesn’t actually contradict the question. 

Vanessa is thrown, for a second.

Then she smiles indulgently at them, and looks expectantly at Agatha.

Agatha doesn’t say anything for a moment, staring unseeingly at Tedros. For a crazed second, she considers yanking off her veil and throwing it in Vanessa’s face.

Slowly, she turns to face her mother. 

“I believe you’ve said all there is to say on the topic, mother.” she says, as blandly as she can manage. “I have nothing to add.”

Vanessa’s eyes narrow slightly, clearly catching the jab Agatha had angled in the statement. Then she turns expectantly back to a bewildered Tedros. Agatha can’t believe they didn’t brief him about her, but he seems genuinely taken aback. He really didn’t know about the veil? None of his courtiers had seemed  _ surprised _ , just suspicious. 

Maybe they had more in common than she’d expected.

_ Or _ , she thinks, eyeing his perfect face,  _ maybe not.  _

“In time, you’ll find out, of course.” Vanessa says brightly. “But first, I think we all look forward to getting to know each other better.”

_ That’s a generalisation _ , thinks Agatha grimly. 

“Of course.” says Tedros vaguely, still staring at Agatha. Agatha wonders how much is actually going on in that pretty head. Probably not a whole lot. Might explain why he’s surrounded by courtiers. To do all the thinking for him. 

But then he seems to recover himself, a little.

"Ah-- I hope your journey wasn't too tedious?"

Asking after their  _ journey?  _ Really. Groundbreaking.

“It was quite pleasant.” says Vanessa, at the same time that Agatha says; “It was dire.”

Vanessa and Tedros look at Agatha.

“I’m seasick.” Agatha say. “I spent much of the journey throwing up. I believe it was quite pleasant for my mother, though I didn’t see much of her.”

Tedros frowns. Agatha wonders if he’s caught the  _ Vanessa ignored me when I was puking can you tell she’s a horrible mother, yet?  _ Implications. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, but-- forgive me-- why didn’t you travel by carriage?”

“Security, apparently.” mutters Agatha. “Even though it’s far easier to take potshots at a ship.”

There’s an awkward pause, a few seconds long.

Then Vanessa forces a high, reedy laugh.

“Oh, you’re so witty, Agatha! Yes, for security, though not quite as she described it. Carriages on the Gillikin Pass tend to be at risk, you see. It’s high and cold and full of bandits. We couldn’t have your bride kidnapped before she gets to you!”

She laughs again. Agatha rolls her eyes. The Gillikin Pass  _ is _ cold, but it’s not particularly high, nor is it full of bandits. Vanessa had just wanted to take the ships for a more dramatic entrance, and to keep Agatha from bothering her, given she’d be busy throwing up.

Apparently Lord Scourie behind Tedros’s throne is aware of this, too, because he frowns. But Tedros himself doesn’t seem to realise it’s not true. He blinks his big doll eyes and smiles his charming smile and looks at something of a loss as to what to say. Agatha thinks he might have been jarred by the reminder that he had to  _ marry _ Agatha. 

_ Poor baby, _ thinks Agatha dispassionately. Well, he’d either get over it, or find some noblewoman just as beautiful as him to have an affair with. Provided he doesn’t try to dispose of her, she doesn’t much care. 

The white-gloved attendant who’d shown them in saves Tedros from causing (another) awkward silence. 

“Dinner will be served at seven, your majesty."

Agatha wilts in relief. That's not too long. A few hours. She’s  _ starving.  _

"Hm?" Tedros glances at him, seeming to only just realise that he's there. "Oh-- yes. Of course."

He gets up-- he's tall, taller than Vanessa, but maybe not taller than Agatha. Hah. 

"I'll have you shown to your quarters." he says as he descends from the dais, still eyeing Agatha. "You can rest before dinner, get to know the castle a little. I hope the rooms are to your tastes.”

As he draws near, Agatha deploys her most common judge of character.

She makes eye contact from under the veil.

Most people don’t notice. There’s no real way of telling. But those that do-- usually the paranoid or the vain-- either react in one of two ways; smiling, typically awkwardly, or shuddering, and looking away quickly. 

Tedros does neither.

He blinks slowly, raises an eyebrow slightly. The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

Then he bows, takes her hand, and briefly presses his lips to her glove.

"Until dinner." He says.

* * *

"What was he like?" demands Callis, the second Agatha enters her sitting room. 

"Symmetrical." Says Agatha. 

Callis and Sophie stare at her. Agatha scowls.

"He was handsome and he was polite and he seemed very confused by the veil thing. Also, he's shorter than me."

Sophie beams.

"You love him!"

"I most certainly do  _ not _ ." Sneers Agatha, snatching off her veil and slamming it down on the side table. "We exchanged less than a dozen sentences and it's clear he's a peacock. Have you  _ seen _ him?"

She says the last part slightly more bitterly than she'd intended.

She gets no response.

Agatha leans against the table, sighing.

“Well, you can meet him and his symmetrical face at seven, I’m taking you to dinner.”

“ _ Yes!”  _ Sophie leaps up, eager-- then seems to look at Agatha properly for the first time. “ _ Where  _ did that dress come from? That can’t be yours. You don’t own  _ anything  _ that tasteful.”

“Got prepped by some maids.” says Agatha vaguely, dropping into a chair and ignoring how the pearls on the skirt dig into her legs. “Could have been worse, the choice in dress.”

“I’ll do you one better,” says Callis dryly, as Sophie rushes over to examine Agatha’s dress. “What happened to your  _ hair?” _

Agatha’s hand flies to the back of her neck. She’d completely forgotten about her haircut until now. 

“Oh. Asked for it shorter.” she says.

Sophie looks disapproving. 

“Agatha. That’s not a  _ Queen’s  _ hairstyle.”

“No one can even  _ see _ my hair.” says Agatha. “Who cares?”

“What about the wedding?”

“Burn that bridge when I get to it.” mutters Agatha. “Can we focus on one thing at a time, please?”

“Right!” Sophie springs to her feet, grinning again. “The dinner-- ooh, is it  _ formal?  _ If so, I need to get changed, do my hair, I’m practically  _ withering away  _ from my time on that ghastly ship…”

“It’s dinner with the King. What do you think?” gripes Agatha. But Sophie is already hustling towards the door, no longer paying attention. It’s probably a good thing. It takes her hours to get ready.

“Bye.” sighs Agatha as the door slams shut. She loves Sophie, but she reminds her far too much of Vanessa at times.

She looks over at Callis, who is looking at her.

“What was he  _ actually  _ like?” says Callis. 

Agatha leans back, groaning.

“Honestly? I don’t really know. He’s polite, I suppose. He seems very taken aback, though. I don’t think he knows what to make of me.” she considers this. “I don’t know what to make of  _ him.  _ He’s very… stiff.”

She’s silent for a moment. 

“He is handsome. But he doesn’t look right, close up. He looks artificial. Gives me an odd feeling.”

Callis leans forwards.

“Like Vanessa?”

Agatha frowns. 

She  _ knew  _ the odd, slightly  _ too  _ perfect feeling was familiar.

“Yes.” she says slowly. “Like her. I could sense… something. On him. Some kind of magic trace.”

Being magical herself, Agatha is rather good at sensing magic on others. It practically seethes off Vanessa, given all the magic beauty treatments she employs. They’re weak magic, but they’re very surface-level, so they feel obvious, to Agatha. Tedros hadn’t felt the same. 

“If it  _ is _ the same thing, it’s sloppily done, on him. Mother looks a little stretched, but she doesn’t look painted on.” she says slowly. “And it feels repressed, somehow. Like something’s restricting it.”

Callis considers this for a minute.

“Maybe it’s an old one.” she says. “One of those dangerous ones. That are supposed to be permanent.”

Agatha knows the ones. Vanessa had refused to use them, preferring short-term ones at frequent intervals (though they’re getting increasingly more potent as she ages) but one of the court ladies used one. She looks ethereal at certain angles and grotesque from others, but, again, the magic is very obvious.

“Maybe.” she says. “Could be a slightly different enchantment.”

But, if that  _ is  _ the case, then that means she might have less to worry about. 

Callis seems to have followed her train of thought. 

“King Arthur never struck me as the type to enchant his son for not being handsome enough, though.” she admits. 

“Maybe he did it himself?” offers Agatha. Callis frowns.

“As far as I know, he’s always been good-looking. Ever since he was a boy, I’ve been hearing people jabbering away about how handsome he’ll be and how lucky his wife will be. But I don’t see what else it could be.”

There's a pause.

“Well,” Agatha says, with an attempt at humour. “I don’t think it was loathing at first sight, so I consider it a win. He just seems very pretty and mildly stupid. Lets go and see if he’ll tolerate the fact that I eat enough for two people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was considering having the dinner in this chapter, but I think it deserves its own.   
> Tedros. Hmm. Different to how I usually describe him, isn't it? Lmao. We shall see.


	6. gloves and dinner and ladies in waiting

Vanessa is upon Agatha the second they're at the dinner table.

"Don't say anything silly this time, dear.” she says brightly as they take their seats.

"Quite sure I don't know what you mean." Says Agatha mildly, knowing exactly what she means.

"You  _ know _ what you said." 

"I'm not sure I do, but I'll try my very best to remember what I may have said to offend you." 

Vanessa’s smile is rather fixed, now. She takes a breath to say something else, but is interrupted by the advisor from earlier, as he leans over the table to speak to them.

"I hope the food will be to your liking. We've endeavoured to present the very best of this country's cuisine for you."

Agatha grins, as he can't see her face. She is  _ not _ hard to please on the food front.

"I'm sure it will."

He smiles a little. He's short and stocky and has a weak jaw, but his eyes are very shrewd. He can't be  _ much _ older than Tedros or Agatha, but he's probably around twenty three. 

"Please let me know if you require anything at all. I am Duke Weatherford, the King's personal advisor."

Vanessa thanks him profusely, obviously. Agatha mumbles vague thanks and glances at Tedros, sat prettily and doing absolutely nothing opposite her. She wonders, again, who the real brains is behind the throne. Then, as she turns back to Weatherford, she realises he's  _ also _ wearing white gloves.

In fact, looking around, it seems to Agatha that the entire Camelot court is doing so. Perhaps it's in fashion.

On her other side, she can tell that Sophie and Callis are both staring at Tedros. Sophie has been gawking since the second they walked in-- probably trying to commit every one of his perfect pores to memory-- and Tedros has been ignoring her. Agatha can't say she blames him. He's probably subject to stares all the time, and his face looks even more flawless under candlelight. 

But Callis had sat back in her chair and eyed him in much the same manner as a hawk who is eyeing up a particularly stupid rabbit to kill. 

"Callis." Hisses Agatha out of the corner of her mouth. "Stop it."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You look like you're trying to kill him with your mind. Regicide is not on the menu."

"Peacock is, though." 

"Oh, ha, ha. Anyway, how could you possibly already know that he's a p--" Agatha catches sight of Tedros staring at himself in one of the silver plates and sighs. "Right, okay."

She leans over.

"Your highness, I don't believe I've yet introduced you to my nursemaid, Lady Netherwood?"

Tedros's eyes snap up from the plate, and he suddenly appears rather apprehensive. 

"I… don't think so." He says, and forces another one of those charming, slightly insecure, smiles. Callis merely inclines her head. Tedros looks rather helpless. Agatha gets the distinct impression that he's not used to being disliked, and doesn't know what to do about it. 

"You--you've worked with the princess long, ma'am?"

"Since the day she was born." Says Callis coolly. "I named her."

"Oh, you-- you did?"

Callis glances over at Vanessa, who is twittering away to Weatherford. 

"Her mother was somewhat… busy."

_ “Busy” fighting with Stefan and demanding to know what was wrong with her daughter,  _ thinks Agatha. It had taken her years to get that particular story out of Callis, but Callis still remembers it, word for word;

_ “Oh, you just name her. Something boring. I don’t care.” _

_ Callis had frowned. _

_ “But my lady, I thought you said you were to name her after yourself, should it be a girl.” _

_ Vanessa had cast a disdainful glance down at the baby fussing in Callis’s arms. _

_ “I don’t think that will be necessary.” she’d said, and shot a glance at the charred floorboards where the cradle had stood. “Maybe you ought to name her Hestia.” _

Goddess of the hearth. Genius. Agatha had scowled when Callis had told her. 

"I see." Tedros fiddles with one of his forks, but both Agatha and Callis can see him frowning a little at Vanessa. "You chose well. It's a nice name."

Agatha thinks Callis  _ actually _ chose it just to be perverse, because it makes her sound vaguely witchy and very un-princess-like, but she doesn’t press the point.

"I never had a nursemaid." Tedros continues vaguely. "My mother insisted on doing everything herself."

Then he looks back at Agatha.

"How nice of her." Says Agatha simply, but she gets his meaning.

Not so stupid, after all. Then again, it probably doesn't take a genius to deduce that Vanessa is a terrible mother. You just need to spend more than half an hour with her and Agatha at the same time.

Callis looks a little more accepting. 'My enemy's enemy is my friend' and all that.

"Queen Guinevere, wasn't it?"

Tedros winces a little.

Queen Guinevere who eloped with one of his father's  _ knights _ , yes. It's the one thing Agatha knows about Camelot. It would be impossible  _ not _ to know it, frankly. Shook the entire woods.

"So, it was just your father, after she… left?" Asks Callis mercifully getting the message and, at least, approaching it tactfully and skirting saying it outright..

Tedros takes a breath to answer--

Sophie leans over. 

"Aggie, you haven't introduced me to the King!"

_ Yeah, _ thinks Agatha sourly. _ I know I haven't. _

"Oh, right." She says. "This is my lady in waiting, Sophie--"

"Aldridge." Says Sophie promptly, deliberately using her real-- and _royal--_ surname, instead of the _fake_ one, like a _podge._

Agatha could have screamed.

Tedros blinks.

"You're related to the Princess?"

Sophie beams at him, smoothing her golden hair and pink dress. Such a contrast to Agatha.

"I'm her s--"

" _ You're my cousin _ ." Snarls Agatha.

Sophie blinks, as if coming out of a trance, and turns to see Agatha leaning across Callis, staring at her.

"Right." She says, momentarily meek. "Cousins."

Sophie has done a lot of stupid things, but  _ attempting to announce her bastard status to claim she's a sort-of-Princess so she might have a better chance with  _ **_Agatha's betrothed_ ** _ (!!!)  _ is definitely the crowning jewel.

Another point for the Tedros Might Have A Brain argument is that he doesn't look convinced. Then again, Sophie had got the first syllable out before Agatha had shut her up, and there was no other relation that started with  _ s.  _

Agatha has to physically resist putting her head in her hands.

"I didn't know the Queen had siblings." Tedros says uncertainly.

"She's on my father's side." Lies Agatha quickly. "He had a half brother."

He didn't, but Tedros didn't need to know that.

"Oh, I see." He frowns. "Funny, my father never mentioned that. He was friends with Prince Stefan in his youth."

Agatha and Callis look at each other, horrified-- 

They're saved by the arrival of the first course. 

* * *

Agatha has never had such exquisite food. Tiny, fragile pastries are the entree, filled with a spectrum of colourful, fragrant sauces and a variety of perfectly cooked meats--

"Wrong fork." Hisses Vanessa as Agatha prepares to spear one of them. Agatha blinks.

"Huh?"

"That's the salad fork."

"What's the difference?"

"Just use the right one, Agatha.”

"But--"

Vanessa smiles awkwardly at Tedros and Weatherford, who are trying to look like they’re not staring.

"Put it  _ down _ ." 

"But they all look the same! How do you know--"

Vanessa scowls and turns away, presumably hoping someone else would help her. But Callis is talking to the Lord Scourie from earlier, arm obscuring her cutlery, and Sophie isn’t even eating, just gazing at Tedros.

"But I don't know--" Agatha stops, staring helplessly at the vast variety of cutlery spread before her. She'd never been taught this, given Vanessa never took her to formal dinners. There’s even more than one _wine_ _glass._

She looks back over at Vanessa, but Vanessa is ignoring her, eating daintily with a fork that looks exactly the same as all the others. Agatha looks down at the space beside her, hoping to see where she’d taken the fork from--

But she’s pushed them all close together, so Agatha won’t be able to copy her.

Agatha calls her something foul under her breath and resolves to just choose one at random--

A white gloved finger taps the fork closest to the plate.

Agatha’s head snaps up.

_ Meat fork.  _ Mouths Tedros.

_ Why are you helping me?  _ is halfway onto Agatha’s lips before she remembers she’s wearing a veil and he can’t see her face. Slowly, she nods.

_ Copy me. _

Agatha nods again, mildly bewildered. 

Tedros smiles-- not that charming, close-lipped smirk, but a conspirator’s grin-- and returns to his plate. 

* * *

Agatha can see Vanessa glaring at her.

In the lull between courses, she snatches one of the bread rolls and tears it in half with her bare hands, not really caring that she’s probably supposed to use a knife. The food is a million times better than the tiny, bland, elegantly plated portions at home, and she’s enjoying herself for the first time today. It’s hard not to. Stuffed birds with sharp, unidentifiable fillings, clear soups which seemed to change flavour as you swallowed them, white fish with swirls of watercress and drizzled with a rich white sauce, a huge selection of delicate canapés and perfectly golden, still warm bread rolls stamped with the dragon crest-- there’s no way she’s going to  _ leave  _ any of it. 

Vanessa is clearly not impressed, though. She’s eyeing the roll in Agatha’s hands as if it’s personally offensive, and keeps shooting apologetic glances over at Tedros, like she feels the need to compensate for Agatha’s behaviour.

Agatha forces down the impulse to shove it down her throat, and wonders what she can do to--

An idea strikes her.

She looks up deliberately, and pretends as if she’s only just seen Tedros looking at them for the first time.

“Oh,” she says cheerfully. “Do you want the other half?”

She offers it to him across the table.

Vanessa groans quietly. Callis snorts into her wine glass. 

Tedros blinks at her. 

Agatha is just thinking this has the potential to go slightly wrong, when Tedros puts his hand out and takes it.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

_ Hah!  _

That’ll teach Vanessa. If he plays along with improper behaviour, he’ll be harder for her to charm.

Unfortunately, Agatha is given a problem of her own as Sophie takes advantage of the lull in conversation to pounce back onto Tedros. 

“When were you coronated?” she asks sweetly. “I saw a portrait of it out in the hall. You looked very handsome.”

Tedros smiles indulgently, but he’s not really looking at her. 

“Last year. I had regents up until I was sixteen.” He indicates Weatherford.

“I can’t imagine all that responsibility at sixteen.” muses Sophie. “You must be very able.”

_ You can’t imagine any responsibility at all,  _ thinks Agatha sourly. Sophie doesn’t do much, apart from criticise Agatha’s fashion sense, follow her around, and tie up her dress laces. It’s Agatha, the least favourite and also the official heir, who gets landed with all the paperwork that Vanessa doesn’t want to do. 

Tedros shrugs uncomfortably.

“Perhaps.” 

“Was it a grand coronation? Lots of people?”

Unless Agatha is very much mistaken. Tedros shoots Weatherford a rather panicked glance. In response, Weatherford fields the question. Tedros shoves the bread Agatha had given him into his mouth, presumably as an excuse not to speak.

How curious. 

“Half the kingdom turned out, didn’t they, Tedros?” says Weatherford, chuckling slightly. Tedros nods slowly, but he doesn’t look at him, or at anyone else, picking crumbs off his gloves with a slightly unsteady hand. Agatha watches him closely, frowning. 

“I’m sure it went very well.” smiles Sophie.

Weatherford glances at Tedros. 

“Yes, we had… lots of compliments.”

He’s dodged the question, Agatha realises. 

_ What happened at the coronation--? _

“I’m sure you did.” purrs Sophie, and Agatha goes back to daydreaming about braining her with the wine bottle. 

* * *

“What was  _ that _ ?” snarls Agatha, the second they leave the hall, wheeling on Sophie in the middle of the crush of nobles. Sophie opens her mouth--

“Agatha! _ ”  _ trills Vanessa, looming up behind them. 

“I used the right cutlery.” snaps Agatha. She’s tired and stressed and has spent  _ far  _ too much time in Vanessa’s vicinity today. Decorum is not on her mind. 

“Because the King was kind enough to help you.” says Vanessa. “I was actually here to question how much you ate.”   
So, she’d noticed. Agatha had thought she would. Would’ve been hard  _ not  _ to, considering she’d eaten like a starving man.

“Well,” she says coolly, “When you’ve spent the last two days vomiting, because  _ someone  _ decided to go by ship despite being well aware that, it seems natural you’d be hungry.”

“Oh,  _ Agatha. _ I’ve told you why we had to go by ship.” sighs Vanessa, projecting the perfect impression of a hard-done-by mother. 

Agatha clenches her jaw--

Someone behind them clears his throat.

She turns to find Tedros standing behind her, and they all drop into hasty curtsies. Tedros looks dismissive.

“Oh, don’t bother. My apologies. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No.” says Agatha firmly. “Not at all. Was there something you wanted?”

“Er.” Tedros rubs his jaw awkwardly. “I was wondering if you’d permit me to escort you back to your rooms?”

Agatha stares at him, taken aback, forgetting that he can’t see her facial expression. 

Tedros, clearly unnerved by the veil-clad, expressionless, silent response, opens his mouth to backtrack--

“I would.” says Agatha sweetly, aware of Sophie stood right behind her. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Your nursemaid seems very caring.” says Tedros, leading her through a rabbit warren of elaborate tapestries and paintings sporting wrinkly old men. Agatha’s glad that he’s taking her, because, frankly, she has no idea where she’s going, yet. “I gather she’s seen you through most things.”

Yes, he’d definitely noticed that Callis was staring at his back as they’d left. Agatha had half expected her to set the back of his silks on fire, but she supposed that was  _ her _ forte.

“She has.” says Agatha casually, fiddling with her veil.

“And your mother?”

“She’s... played her part.” says Agatha thinly. Played her part in making Agatha love Callis more, anyway.

“I see.” 

_ At least someone does,  _ Agatha thinks. The people of Gavaldon certainly don’t, and no one here seems to have realised anything is amiss-- apart from their lord, apparently. 

They walk in silence a little further. It’s a lot cooler in this part of the castle. Not that temperature particularly bothers Agatha either way, but she’d been able to tell that it was hot in that dinner hall. It’s less oppressive up here. 

She watches Tedros out of the corner of her eye. He’s certainly not what she’d expected, and she feels a little bad for having called him stupid to Sophie and Callis, earlier. He doesn’t seem the shrewdest, and the fact he still relies on his ex-regent seems to suggest a lack of certainty, but he doesn’t appear to be a terrible judge of character. He’s just a bit… ditzy. 

Though, watching him check his flawless face in every gilded mirror they past, she can’t resist rolling her eyes. Surely he knows that he looks polished to perfection. He’d looked far too pleased when Sophie had complimented him, earlier.

Oh, Sophie. God.

“And my cousin…?”

“Very-- er, very charming.” says Tedros quickly-- and uncomfortably. Agatha smirks. “She’s also your lady in waiting?”

“Yes, we spend a lot of time together.”

“You’re a similar age?”

“She’s about a year younger than me.” says Agatha. “More your age, really.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise.”

“She likes to pretend she’s older, considering people can’t compare our faces to see who looks eldest.”

Then she winces internally, knowing she’s going to have led him onto the topic of the veil. 

She sees him sneak a glance at her, almost the second it’s out of her mouth. 

“Yes.” he says. “That’s… true.” 

He hesitates. 

“Er, I know I asked earlier, but I thought, in an informal setting--”

But Agatha is already shaking her head. 

“I’m afraid I’ve given you my answer.”

“...right. But is it a medical thing, or--”

“I’m sorry, your highness, I can’t tell you. Not now. You’ll know eventually.”

“When?”

Truthfully, Agatha has no idea.

“Well,” she says vaguely. “Can’t keep it on til  _ death do us part,  _ so…”

She shrugs. She’s slightly regretting bringing up the wedding, but Tedros barely reacts.

“...yeah.” Tedros frowns, but he looks more annoyed at himself than her. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Agatha is starting to recognise their surroundings, now, which means they can’t be far away. And, sure enough, they’re approaching the door that Agatha was ushered through earlier. 

Tedros stops awkwardly, and Agatha rifles in her pockets for the key.

“There’ll be guards stationed on both ends of the corridor.” he says finally, breaking the silence. “If you need anything. Or there’s a problem.”

“Thank you.” says Agatha vaguely, producing the key. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Another awkward silence descends. Agatha finishes unlocking the door, and turns to him--

“The people liked you.” Tedros blurts, suddenly. “I heard that. They told me. The court, I mean. Everyone’s excited about… you know. Getting a Queen.”

Agatha leans against the door and looks at him. His age is showing in this moment. He’s an inch or so shorter than her, and still has odd little bits of childishness about him, especially how big and earnest his eyes are, and how he’s twisting one of the gold links on his sleeve. He looks rather embarrassed, and Agatha half-expects him to blush, but his skin is as pristine as ever. There’s a brown, sort of tan, smudge on one of his gloves.

“How sweet.” she says. “They were very nice today.”

Tedros nods quickly. 

“A-and for what it’s worth, I’m glad to have met you. I think I’ll--um.”

He stumbles to a clumsy stop.

Agatha nearly snorts. She’s had no etiquette training, and he apparently can’t string a sentence together. What a regal pair they shall make.

“That’s kind.” she says quickly, realising he’s ready to die from embarrassment. “Thank you.”

She gets the distinct impression he doesn’t know how to approach her, given she’s utterly unreadable. He’s not half as formal when he’s on his own. Perhaps Weatherford feeds him lines. 

Then she actually thinks about what he  _ said _ , and realises she doesn’t know how to respond, either. 

“Um--”

Heels sound in the corridor behind them, as does a loud chattering, answered by a lower, calmer voice. 

“Sophie.” Agatha says, in response to Tedros’s questioning look. “And Callis.”

“I’ll take my leave.” says Tedros quickly, already backing away. “You’ll probably want to retire.”

“Alright. Thank you.” Not for the first time, Agatha wishes people could tell when she was smiling at them. “Goodnight.”

Coincidentally, Tedros smiles back, even though there’s no real way he can tell.

“Goodnight.”

He offers her a small bow, then turns and heads off down the corridor.

Agatha watches him go, twisting the fabric of her glove thoughtfully.

How interesting. 

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to be bored. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that not a whole lot is happening yet dhshkshk there's a lot to set up n establish.  
> tedros stupid! king himbo :) hdjs  
> let me know what you thought! :D


	7. flowers

For a few seconds after she wakes up, Agatha has no idea where she is. 

She stares blearily at an ornate mirror, wondering when she'd got one. Or velvet curtains. Or a chandelier. Or--

Agatha turns her head, and finds Dot’s face an inch from hers. She jumps so hard she cracks her elbow on the headboard.

Oh, right.

Camelot.

“Ow-- Dot, what the hell?”

“Sorry!” Peeps Dot. “Queen Vanessa says we’re not to touch you without warning you!”

“You could have  _ said  _ something, instead of just staring at her.” comes Beatrix’s voice from behind her.

“What are you doing here?” says Agatha blearily. 

Dot frowns. 

“Don’t you have maids in Gavaldon?”

“I have… Callis.” says Agatha vaguely. “And Sophie.”

“Well, yeah, but don’t you have other personal servants?”

“Er… no. My mother prefers my household to be… restricted.”

“Cause people can’t touch you, much?”

“Something like that.” mutters Agatha. The real answer is so that there’s less chance of people finding out about her  _ talent,  _ and why she wears the veil. 

Dot looks a little suspicious, but her face soon clears.

“Well, here, the King and Queen both have personal servants, which means we prep you every morning!”

The look on Agatha’s face must betray her horror, but Beatrix just laughs.

“Not on the same level as yesterday. We just help you dress, go over your schedule, and things like that.”

Agatha tries not to look too hostile.  _ Callis _ usually did that. 

“Right.” she says, sliding out of bed and onto the plush rug. “What  _ am  _ I doing today?”

“Wedding planning!” chorus Dot and Beatrix enthusiastically. 

Agatha looks at their beaming faces. 

“...I see.”

* * *

Whilst they’re off choosing her an outfit, Agatha takes the opportunity to have a good snoop around her bedroom. She’d been too tired to bother last night. Now, she can see how ornate it is. Velvet hangings and carved oak wood and gilded mirrors. She’s even got a vanity. She’d never bothered with one of them before, especially not one with a marble tabletop. 

She wanders over to peer out one of the many high windows, and finds herself staring at acres of forest. She must be facing south, because she’d seen the gardens when they’d come in through the North Gate; huge and manicured, filled with bushes and crystalline lakes. She can’t see any water from here, save the river running through the woods.

She watches a fox skirt the perimeter of a clearing, for a while, until she hears Dot and Beatrix returning--

There’s a familiar hiss, and Agatha looks down to see a pair of yellow eyes staring at her from under the bed. 

Agatha grins. Nice to see a familiar face.

“Hi, Reaper.”

It appears someone had remembered to bring him here, after all. Probably Callis. 

Reaper leaps up onto the windowsill for some attention, knocking a fancy pot onto the floor. He’s got a mouse clamped in his jaws.

“ _ Clever  _ Reap,” says Agatha appreciatively, scratching his wrinkly ears. “Resuming your role as Royal Mouser, eh?”

“Is… that  _ your  _ cat?” says Beatrix nervously. Agatha glances at her. 

“Yeah. Why?”

“He was terrorising the lords in their meeting, yesterday.”

Agatha looks at Reaper.

“Stick to mice, please.”

He meows.

“I  _ love  _ your colour palette!” says Dot, reappearing with a dress. “Black, navy, dove grey, red-- it’s ever so  _ gothic _ .” she lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Kinda matches your magic too, doesn’t it?”

“Um, sure.” mumbles Agatha, stepping into a high-necked navy gown with silver embellishments that she’s never seen before in her life. It seems Camelot are far better at providing a wardrobe than Vanessa is. 

“Is it a fashionable thing, in Gavaldon? Countess Jadis wears the same sort of style. I met her at dinner last night, she was with your guard. Captain Baumann? We had a nice chat!”

Agatha, who struggles to imagine Hester or Anadil having a  _ nice chat  _ with anyone, ever, makes a vaguely interested noise. They must want something from Dot. Probably want to make sure she wasn’t plotting to murder Agatha, or anything 

“Maybe. I think Anadil wears everything better than me, though.”

“She’s very elegant.” says Dot diplomatically. “She’s not as tall as you, though!”

Beatrix hands over Agatha’s veil. 

“You’re choosing flowers, today. You get to do the fun bits: I hear Weatherford and your mother are handling the actual logistics of it all.”

Agatha, who doesn’t correlate the word  _ fun _ with the phrase  _ choosing flowers,  _ frowns. 

“What else do I have to do?”

“Let me see… choose bridesmaids, choose a cake, choose a colour palette, decide on the guest list, decide who sits where, choose your  _ dress _ , fragrance, nails, jewellery, hair, and makeup, decide on the rings, learn to dance because Vanessa says you can’t, get to grips with Camelot’s wedding customs, decide on wedding gifts, choose what you want for the meal, learn the names of all the important guests attending, accept well-wishes from nobility and the gentry, an--”

She stops when she sees Agatha gawking at her. 

* * *

Twenty minutes in, Agatha has decided she takes back what she said yesterday about her new life not being boring.

Wedding planning is  _ inconceivably, brain-numbingly, _ boring.

"They look exactly the same as the ones you just showed us." Agatha says impatiently, staring at the pale pink roses being wafted in front of her face.

The weedy old man looks affronted.

"I assure you, Princess, they are not! These are  _ Rosalind _ roses! They're semi-glossy, with distinctive medium green foliage--" 

"Yes." Agatha says blandly. "Distinctive."

The florist seems to sense he's being made fun of, and opens his mouth--

"We'll have them." Interrupts Tedros quickly. 

Agatha turns to stare at him. Tedros twists his gloved fingers awkwardly.

"Rosalind sounds nice."

"You're choosing them based on what they're  _ called _ , are you?"

Tedros frowns.

"Well, you're not choosing them at  _ all _ ."

Agatha can't think of a retaliation, given he's right, so she just turns sulkily back to stare at the huge pile of flowers on the table. 

The florist looks apprehensively between them. Tedros blasts him with his marble smile and he looks a little more receptive. 

"Why don't we have some of that honeysuckle, too? The pink and white stuff."

"The Late Dutch variety?" Says the florist eagerly.

"Er. Is that the pink one?" 

The florist droops a little, apparently drained by the idiots who don't know anything about flowers. 

"There are several varieties like that, sire."

"Um… whichever you think goes best."

"As you wish, sire. Next, I think I'll fetch the selection we have available for centerpieces, if that pleases your majesty…?"

"Go ahead."

"I thank you." 

The second he's gone, Agatha groans and puts her head on the table. She's pretty sure she's hiked up the veil, exposing the back of her neck to Tedros. Oh, the scandal. She'd be high-kicking on the belfry, next. No, it's more that Vanessa hates her doing it, because if you look hard enough, you can see a scar near her jaw.

Only, she doesn't think Tedros  _ will _ look hard, because he's a lovely polite gentleman. 

Also, he's too busy looking at  _ himself _ in a silver vase. 

She'd been more inclined to be kind about him, last night, even if he was stupid and vain. But she'd come down to breakfast to catch the end of an argument with Weatherford (petulant) she'd caught him looking at his reflection twice more (vanity hinging on obsession) and, now, spending an extended amount of time with him has exposed another, even more major, character flaw.

He actually  _ cares _ about the sodding wedding.

Agatha had expected him to be just as apathetic as her-- if not _more_ , now he knows his bride is weird and evasive and doesn't know table etiquette. But no. He'd trotted into the drawing room at precisely 10 o clock (Vanessa had forced Agatha to be early, because _the_ _bride is supposed to be enthusiastic_ ) smiled, sat down, greeted the florist politely, and showed some actual interest in the identical flowers being shoved in their faces. 

Whereas  _ Agatha _ is a. having visions of taking scissors to the roses b. wishing Callis was with her c. being grateful Sophie wasn't and d. wondering what was for lunch.

She still hadn't had the opportunity to confront Sophie about dinner last night. She'd already eaten and disappeared by the time Agatha had gotten to breakfast, which smacked of _ I am avoiding my sister because I know I pissed her off by flirting with her betrothed and making him suspicious about my parentage.  _ It's not as if Sophie is going to be able to charm him into marrying  _ her _ instead.  _ She _ isn't the one who gives Camelot the political advantage. Agatha might be dour and grumpy and irritable, but she's a good politician and she'll get the throne, one day.

And, should they find out about her, er,  _ talent, _ she imagines they'll find some way of making her a very advantageous weapon. 

Not cheered by the thought, she lifts her head and snaps;

"You look exactly the same as you did yesterday. What's so fascinating about your mouth?"

Said mouth turns down somewhat. 

"Just because you don't show your face--" begins Tedros--

"I know vanity when I see it,  _ sire _ ."

Tedros clenches his jaw. Any positive feelings they had towards each other seem to have withered somewhat. 

"You don't get it." He says. "You don't have appearances to upkeep."

_ Ooh, if only you knew _ , thinks Agatha sourly. She snorts.

"Don't I?"

Tedros looks doubtfully at her veil.

"Well--"

The door bashes open and the florist is back. Tedros shuts his mouth with a snap and turns back to their wedding flowers.

* * *

"Look," says Tedros desperately, two hours, thousands of flowers, and a passive-aggressive argument later. "You were fine yesterday. Can't you just pretend to care?" 

"Can't you see my enthusiastic smile?"

Tedros eyes her warily.

"It was a joke, highness." Says Agatha tiredly.

"Didn't you notice his expression?" Demands Tedros, disregarding her previous comment. "Can you even see through that thing?"

"No, I walk into walls on the regular.  _ Yes _ , I can see!"

"Well then, you must have noticed! They're going to think we hate each other." Presses Tedros.

" _ They? He _ is."

"And  _ he _ is going to go and gossip to all the maids." Snaps Tedros suddenly. "Then the maids will gossip to their families, then their families will go to the market and gossip to the vendors, and before you know it, the entire kingdom will be hysterical and convinced the marriage will be a wreck, just like my parents' was." 

Agatha stares at him, slightly shamed and slightly surprised in equal measure. 

"But--"

"I'm getting the impression you don't interact with people much." Says Tedros, this time marginally less irritated.

Agatha takes a breath to say she does, thinks about it, and realises she doesn't.

"I suppose." She admits reluctantly. "Usually it's just Callis and Sophie. I don't go to court often, and neither they nor the servants like me."

"What? Why?"

"Use your brain, if you have one." Snaps Agatha absently, then winces, realising she's doing exactly what he'd just asked her not to. "Sorry. Shouldn't have--" 

"It's fine." Says Tedros quickly. "It was a stupid question."

"Mm."

He steals another glance at her veil. Agatha doesn't comment, other than to say;

"So, truce?"

Tedros blinks.

"Huh?"

"Truce. We'll both make more of an effort to make sure we project the right image. We can fight or avoid each other as much as we like in private."

For a second, Agatha swears Tedros looks unhappy. Presumably at the prospect of having to pretend to be in love with her. She'd probably be pissed off, too. 

He agrees willingly enough, though.

"Alright. Shake on it?"

"Spit?" Says Agatha, mostly just to wind him up.

Tedros looks horrified.

"Absolutely  _ not _ . Besides, we're both wearing gloves."

"So? Can always take gloves off--"

"You  _ never _ take them off, dear."

Agatha nearly snarls in irritation as the door opens, and Vanessa swoops through, Weatherford beside her. Agatha's not sure she likes the combination. Weatherford is definitely the real power behind the throne, so the idea of Vanessa getting chummy with him...

"Suppose I don't." She says coolly. 

"Why's that?" Asks Tedros. Agatha knows full well she can't give him another woolly answer about not being able to tell him, so...

"Poor circulation." Says Agatha promptly. "How about you?"

Tedros glances nervously over at Weatherford. Agatha rolls her eyes. Yes, Weatherford definitely does the thinking for him.

But then again _, nervously--_?

"Good manners," Tedros shrugs. "Fashion."

Agatha eyes him for a second, slightly suspicious.

"The rest of the court wear them." She says slowly.

"They take style cues from me, sometimes." Says Tedros, teetering on the edge of preening.

Of course. Well, maybe it was viable after all.

"Naturally." Agatha says dryly. She turns to Vanessa. "Something you wanted?"

It's innocent, but just casual enough to annoy her.

Vanessa forces a smile.

"We're to escort you to lunch, after which you'll resume looking at flowers."

Tedros glances at her.

Agatha says something foul, mentally.

"I can hardly wait." She says, out loud. 

* * *

"Don't you have  _ anything _ to do?" Demands Agatha finally, after another painful hour with a determinedly fake-cheerful Tedros. "Any highfalutin kingly duties?" 

And it  _ is _ fake cheer. She's seen it wobble twice today; once, when Weatherford had said something to him as he'd left-- she'd tried to eavesdrop, but it had come to nothing-- and once after he'd been asked how many thorns he wanted on a single rose. Both times, his pleasantly engaged expression had dipped into something impatient and, frankly, ill-tempered. 

Well, it was nice to know he was human, even if he did look fabricated--

Oh, there it was again.

Tedros's jaw twitches a little, his expression shifts, and he looks more  _ sulky teenager _ than  _ porcelain doll _ , for a minute.

"Y-es." He says, not entirely convincingly. "But they told me it would be more beneficial if I did this, instead."

"Who's  _ they _ ?"

"My advisors." 

"Weatherford and his cronies?"

"Er, yes. Them."

"What do you have to do?" Asks Agatha, genuinely curious. She gets the impression Vanessa doesn't actually do much, and intends to do more than the absolute bare minimum when she gets the throne.

"Just… this and that…" Tedros looks uncomfortable. "Like, signing treaties and approving… stuff…"

"You don't do anything, do you?" Sighs Agatha.

"I do!" Protests Tedros. "I do, I do. It's just…"

He makes a helpless gesture.

"What?"

"Well, I'm… young. And inexperienced.”

Agatha, who's been finding this extremely easy to forget, reaffirms Tedros as an inexperienced seventeen year old in her head. She'd spent so long imagining an old man that it's hard to remember he's actually younger than her.

"They let-- I mean, I have a say, but they all think I'm foolish and d--" He stops abruptly, for some reason. "Er, dramatic."

"Right." Says Agatha, not particularly surprised, but a little disappointed. "So, what, you think you'll do more as you get older?"

"I hope so." Tedros frowns. 

"You  _ hope _ ? Can't you just make them?"

"It's a bit… complicated…" he perks up, suddenly. "You can help me, though! I bet once I've got a Queen to consolidate my power, and there's two of us, it'll be easier, like a team thing--"

Agatha eyes him, suddenly amused.

"You think I'll be able to help you in court?"

Tedros blinks. 

"Won't you?"

Probably not. She barely has any sway over her home court and advisors, let alone those of a foreign court, but she feels as if maybe she shouldn’t tell him that. 

"I don't know." she says vaguely. “I don’t know what your court’s like.”

Tedros shrugs awkwardly. 

“They’re old. They’re all my father’s advisors.”

“Weatherford’s not old.”

“Weatherford is a… special case.”

Agatha is just opening her mouth to ask  _ how come  _ when the door opens. 

“King Tedros.” It’s the nobleman who’d challenged Vanessa yesterday, Lord Scourie. “There’s an… issue that requires your attention. At the gates.”

Tedros’s porcelain face freezes over. 

“Is it like last time?”

There’s a note of panic in his voice that Agatha’s never heard before.

“Yes, sire.” 

Tedros stands up abruptly. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to see this. Excuse me--”

He dodges past her and makes for the door, leaving almost at a run. Agatha stares, bewildered. 

“What happened last time?”

Lord Scourie winces.

“Not my place to say, Princess.”

“Oh.” Agatha looks at him, for a minute. “Do you know the King well?”

Lord Scourie hastily stops an eye-roll. Apparently he doesn't like Tedros much.

“Er, not really. I was appointed just a few months ago, in fact. Basically all I’ve done is help prepare for your arrival.”

“I see.”

Scourie hesitates, hovering in the doorway. He looks rather pink--

“I, er, met your lady in waiting. Today.”

Agatha groans internally. Another boy who’s going to get utterly obliterated by Sophie.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, she’s-- she’s very lovely. You’re very lucky to have her.”

“Mm.” says Agatha, not really agreeing with that sentiment at the moment.

“She seemed more interested in the King, though.” says Scourie, looking rather irritated. “She kept asking about him.”

“ _ Did  _ she.”

“I thought you’d want to know. Given you’re to be his wife, and all that.”

_ Oh, like hell he did. _ He just wants Agatha to bully Sophie out of her interest in Tedros, so that he’ll have more of a chance with her.

Luckily for him, that’s exactly what Agatha is going to do.

“Yes, thank you. Speaking of Sophie,” says Agatha. “If you’ve seen her, would you be able to let someone know I’m looking for her? I’ll be in my rooms. I think we’re done with flowers for today.”

He bolts up immediately. 

“Of course! I’ll go right now. I’ll fetch her myself. And bring her. I think she was talking to the other court ladies.”

_ Of course she was. _

“...Thank you.”

“I’m Hort, by the way.”

“Thank you, Hort.”

“I’m actually a Baron. Tedros just doesn’t know my rank. He’s kind of stupid that way.”

“Right.” Agatha suspects he’s not actually a Baron.

“I used to work in the kitchens, and in the stables, I’m a real jack of all trades, but it’s made me really strong, stronger than Tedros--”

“ _ Thank you, Hort.” _

“Oh, right. Okay. Yeah, I’ll go now--”

He bows abruptly, turns, walks into the doorframe, and then goes running off down the corridor.

“Idiot.” mutters Agatha. She can’t help but take a liking to him, though. 

She wonders what he got promoted for.

She glances out of the window, hoping to see whatever Tedros was summoned down for unfolding, but there’s no view of the North Gate from where she is. She turns and heads back the direction of her rooms, musing to herself. Whatever it is, it has to be serious. 

But the gates are rather public. Perhaps Callis will know what it is, or Hester and Anadil will have heard it from other servants…

But first, she’s got a sister to interrogate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again i'm sorry for a) the bad chapter names and b) that nowt is really happening at the moment audgksks I gotta develop stuff you know...  
> also no I'm not doing Hophie I'm doing "Sophie realises her compulsory heterosexuality and hort learns to be okay w that"


	8. well-wishers

_ Agatha is drowning.  _

_ The water doesn’t burn as it usually does, but it is uncomfortable against her skin all the same, itching and tight. _

_ But nonetheless, she is drowning.  _

_ She writhes and flails under the surface, struggling against the clothes weighing her down; the fur-lined cloak, the heavy boots. Her lungs are screaming, and black spots are dancing in her vision-- it cannot be long before she will faint, and she will be forced to open her mouth. The idea of that sends another lance of panic into her chest and she flails harder, struggling to reach the surface. There is someone standing there, looking down at her. She doesn’t expect them to help. They are the reason she is drowning, after all. _

_ A movement on the surface of the water catches her eye, and she jerks her head towards it, wondering if it will prove helpful-- _

_ No, not only does it not help, it’s going to-- _

_ Inexplicably, almost against her will, she opens her mouth to scream. _

_ She realises her mistake too late. _

* * *

Agatha wakes up to the smell of burning.

She bolts upright, and finds she’s singed holes in the pillow and sheet where her hands had been. Swearing, she tumbles out of bed and onto the rug, trying to hold her hot hands away from anything flammable.

She sits for a minute, sucking in breaths and trying not to dwell on the dream. It’s not unusual for her to have disturbing, overly-detailed dreams, but this one is exceptionally unsettling, and it’s lingering. 

Biting her nails, she stands and makes for the door, intending to sit and draw some strength from the sitting room fire. The clock makes it midnight, so it should hopefully still be alight, but no one will be around to witness her without her veil or gloves.

Still, she takes one of the hooded velvet robes as she leaves. She thinks Beatrix or Dot must have provided it; it’s got the Camelot crest stitched onto the shoulder. 

She traces the dragon absently as she pushes her door open and peers into the corridor. No one’s around, so she pads across the hall and shoulders open the sitting room door. Mercifully, the fire is still burning, and she makes a beeline for it--

“Bad dream?”

Agatha jumps--

She turns to find Callis sitting in one of the chairs behind her.

“Suppose so. Why are you still up?” she asks, relaxing. 

“Thinking.” says Callis shortly, eyeing her uncovered face and hands. She doesn’t comment, though. She just looks pleased.

“About what?” asks Agatha, sinking down next to the fire and digging her hands into the embers, watching her veins start to glow again. 

Callis doesn’t reply right away. Then she says;

“Did you talk to Sophie, today?”

“ _ Talk _ .” Snorts Agatha, crushing an ember in her palm. “Argued, yes.”

“About the King?”

“Unfortunately.”

“What did she say?”

Agatha grimaces, gesturing to coax the flames into burn higher. It had been an unpleasant conversation. Hort had fetched Sophie himself, of course, which meant that Sophie was already in a bad mood when she’d arrived, and, when she’d seen it was only Agatha waiting for her, she’d known exactly what was coming.

* * *

“If this is about me talking to Teddy at dinner, I don’t want to hear it.” Sophie snaps, bustling over to sit in the window seat. 

“ _ Teddy _ .” sneers Agatha. “What are you, twelve?”

“The servants call him that!”

“The servants have known him for more than 48 hours! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“You don’t even  _ like  _ him, why should it matter?”   
“It’s improper!”   
“Since when have you cared if something is  _ proper?”  _ demands Sophie. 

“Since it will cause problems.” hisses Agatha. “You’re going to make the people panic. They’ll think the marriage is going to be a failure.”   
“Isn’t that what you  _ want _ ?”

“No! It has political implications, people will think the alliance between our countries is weak and take advantage of it, there can be all sorts of rumours to undermine Tedros--”

“ _ You don’t like him! _ ” says Sophie shrilly. “Surely I can have some fun--”

“ _ It doesn’t matter! _ ” Snarls Agatha. “What affects him will affect the entire country, and I don’t want to affect an entire country! You saw what happened to his parents!”

Sophie scoffs, hauling herself back to her feet again.

“This isn’t  _ like  _ that! I’m just having some fun--”

“ _ Why?  _ You think he’s going to choose  _ you  _ if you confess you’re my bastard sister? Just because you’re pretty? If this was up to us-- which it isn’t-- I’m sure you’d be very happy, being pretty and fashionable and  _ stupid _ together--”

“Don’t call me stupid.” snaps Sophie.

“Well, don’t act it, and I won’t! You’ve got none of the political advantage, which is what this whole thing is about--”

“I could get it.” says Sophie darkly.

“Pray tell  _ how-- _ ?”

“Mother’s considered declaring me her true heir, before.”

Agatha freezes.

“ _ What?” _

Sophie sneers at her.

“She told me that before this marriage alliance was properly settled, she didn’t see what  _ you _ could possibly do for her that I couldn’t, except cause problems. Now, of course, you’re  _ useful _ , but the backup plan was that you could be my Captain of the Guard, with all your  _ skills.  _ She’s still tempted by the idea. You’re very difficult.”

Agatha clenches her fists.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” says Sophie dismissively. “I just didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Now…” she shrugs. 

“Callis never told me.”

“Callis wasn’t privy to the discussion, given we both knew she’d run and snitch to you the second it was over.” 

“She can’t disown me now.” says Agatha hoarsely. 

“No. Not that she’s happy about it, and she told me that I could always play the part of heir, even if I don’t get to--”

She stops, but it’s too late. Agatha has understood. In her anger, Sophie has gone too far, and blurted something out she wasn’t supposed to. 

“ _ She put you up to this.”  _ growls Agatha.

Sophie’s immediately shaking her head.

“Wait, no--”

_ “She told you to undermine me!” _

“Agatha, you don’t get it--”

“You’re her  _ pawn!” _

“She’s my mother!” hisses Sophie. “And like it or not, she’s yours, too!”

“And yet she seems to be eager to forget it, so why should I honour it? Just because you’re her lapdog--”

“I don’t like her any better than you do!”   
“THEN ACT LIKE IT!”

They stare at each other for a second, not that there’s much point, given Agatha’s expression is obscured. Sophie’s chest is heaving and there’s an ugly, unpleasant look on her face that heralds some sort of cruel outburst. This always happens when they fight. It’s vicious and entirely too reminiscent of Vanessa for Agatha’s liking. In moments like this, it's clear who’d brought each of the sisters up.

“I’m sorry that I seem to be in the way of Mother’s perfect fairy tale ending for you.” says Agatha, forcing herself to be measured. “And I’m sure that Tedros is just as annoyed that he’s got the dour, homely one instead of the beautiful, brainless one. But it’s not changing. Get over it. Find a knight to marry.”

She turns and stalks towards the door--

“You know,” says Sophie loudly. “Mother and I have been making bets on how long your marriage will last. She thinks he’ll get a few heirs from you, as fast as possible, then start having an affair and pressure you until you get a divorce. But me?” 

She leans towards her.

“I think he’ll turn tail at the wedding, the second he takes that veil off.”

Agatha stares dumbly at her, so angry she can barely think. They’ve had their fair share of fights in the past, but Sophie has never,  _ never, _ stooped so low as to make fun of her looks. 

For a horrible second, Agatha has an impulse to take her gloves off and make a grab for her. 

“You’re her double.” she says. “And I feel sorry for you.”

She slams the door in her face and takes off down the corridor. 

* * *

“So Vanessa is deliberately trying to make this harder for you.” says Callis. “Great.”

Agatha grunts in assent, gathering a pile of embers in her hands.

“What did we expect, really?”

“Good point.” Callis considers her, for a moment. “You know she’s just trying to get under your skin. There’s nothing she can do, now.”

Agatha thinks that’s probably not quite true, but remains silent. Then she says;

“Tedros left in a hurry, today. Apparently there was some sort of situation, did you see anything?”

Callis purses her lips.

“No. I saw some sort of commotion, but it was dispersing by the time I passed. Tedros and Lord Scourie both looked unsettled, though.”

Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Hort was just sad that Sophie wasn’t interested in him.” 

“Well, there’s that.” agrees Callis. “You’re setting your robe on fire, by the way.”

Agatha plucks the flames absently off the edge of her sleeve and chucks them back into the fireplace, shaking out the smouldering fabric. 

“Whatever. Well, he looked pretty unsettled when Hort came to tell him, so it can’t be anything good.”

Callis nods-- then smirks.

“I forgot to ask you, how was it?”

“Choosing flowers? Boring.”

“No, I knew you were going to say  _ that--  _ I mean being stuck with the King for three or so hours.”

“Oh.” Agatha pulls a face, tossing a ball of flames from hand to hand. “It was… fine. He was a little irritating, in that he was pretending to be enthusiastic, and he spent every free second preening, but he was agreeable enough, I suppose.”

“I hear you made a pact to be more convincing.”

Agatha shoots her a suspicious glance.

“Who told you that?”

Callis examines her nails.

“I may have stopped to talk to him.”

Agatha hurls the ball of fire back into the grate-- the fire reignites with a  _ whumph--  _ and turns, incredulous.

“You  _ interrogated  _ him? I told you to stop trying to psych him out!”

“I said  _ talk.”  _ sniffs Callis. 

Agatha shoots her an unimpressed look. She knows how Callis operates.

“What did he confess to?”

Callis shrugs. 

“Not much, to start with. Spent a lot of time breaking eye contact and fiddling with his gloves.”

“Can’t imagine why.” mutters Agatha. 

“He was very complimentary.”

“Well, yeah, he was talking to you. Bet he didn’t mention I sulked all the entire time and called him vain.”

Callis smirks.

“He said he was concerned you weren’t enjoying yourself, and asked if there was some way he could fix that. I said no, you’re just difficult.”

Agatha makes a rude gesture in her vague direction.

“Agatha, your fingers are glowing, don’t think I didn’t see that. Anyway, I’m winding you up. I said I thought you’d come to like it better, eventually.”

“So you lied to the poor bastard.”

“Oh, come on, you’ll love learning about all the drama you mustn’t mention to the royal wedding guests. And you’re meeting well-wishers tomorrow, which means you can talk to regular citizens instead of Tedros.”

“Regular citizens who are going to expect me to lavish Tedros with compliments.” sighs Agatha. “But yes, I suppose.”

They sit in silence for a while, watching the fire finally burn down.

“What was your dream about?” asks Callis, finally. 

Agatha shrugs tiredly.

“Water. Always is.”

* * *

She doesn’t go back to sleep, after that. She just lies on the singed sheets with her gloves on, thinking, until Dot and Beatrix come to wake her up and dress her. 

“It’ll be a combination of nobility and townspeople.” Beatrix tells her whilst she eats a hasty breakfast of more of those bread rolls, and orange segments. “It happens every time there’s a royal wedding, apparently. Not that I was here for the last one, but that’s what Tedros said.”

“Nobility?” Agatha asks apprehensively as she’s guided through a maze of corridors. Dot waves her off.

“They’re all sorts of snobby, but I don’t think they’ll be rude to you if Teddy’s there. Truth be told, I don’t think they’ll even pay you much attention. They’ll all be clamouring to get in his good books, so the only thing they’ll do is compliment you.”

“Is this from experience?” asks Agatha.

“Anyone in his close service is subjected to it.” says Beatrix. “He’s pretty private, so they find it harder to flatter him than they’d like.”

Agatha frowns.

“He doesn’t seem very hard to flatter.”

Dot snorts.

“I knew you’d say that. Down here-- oh, hello, Captain!”

Agatha turns to see Hester emerging from the shadows of the corridor they’ve just turned into, and sags in relief.

“Hester. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been told you need an escort today, given that you could potentially be kidnapped by a crazed Baron at any moment.” says Hester, sounding bored. “I don’t see why they’d bother, honestly. You’re not that attractive, and you’d bite if someone tried to grab you.”

“Go to hell.” says Agatha fondly as Hester falls in alongside her. 

* * *

They walk in silence for a little while. Agatha gets the impression Hester is waiting to say something, so slows down a little, to let Beatrix and Dot fall further ahead--

“Heard you and Sophie had a fight.” murmurs Hester as Beatrix and Dot lead them down a spiralling staircase. Agatha grimaces, even though Hester can’t see.

“News travels fast, huh?” 

“Well, I heard you shouting, and figured there's only one person you holler at like that.” says Hester grimly. “What was it about?”

“The King. And how she’s been acting with him.”

“ _ Agatha _ , he’s just some  _ boy--” _

“Vanessa put her up to it.”

Hester pauses mid-reprimand.

“...ah.”

“Let’s face it, the political implications of her doing that are pretty dire. And it’ll never happen.”

“True.”

“Plus, she finally slipped and said I was ugly.” 

“ _ What?” _

“Never liked her.” mutters Dot from in front of them.

“Eavesdrop, much?” snaps Hester. Dot ignores her. Agatha, who wouldn’t have been surprised if Dot and Beatrix already knew, anyway, just shrugs.

“I mean--” she begins.

“Don’t say  _ she’s not wrong.”  _ Hester snaps. Agatha closes her mouth, but only because she’s noticed who’s stood at the end of the corridor.

Tedros smiles awkwardly at them.

“Good morning.”

Hester glares at him. Agatha sighs inwardly. Another person to bully him for no real reason.

Today, Tedros has tiny stars drawn under his eyes, and a silver doublet that shimmers slightly as he moves. Agatha understands why they’d forced her to add silver embroidery and jewellery to her usual black today. Still, she doesn’t really understand why they have to  _ match.  _ It feels odd and vaguely embarrassing. Tedros doesn’t seem to mind, though; he’s his usual charming self, flawless face set back to courteousness. Whatever had rattled him yesterday, he no longer projects any worry.

But Agatha notices his eyes dart down the corridor as he turns to open the door, one hand held slightly out, as if he’s ready to make a sudden move, and she’s no longer so sure. 

* * *

As she'd expected, it's pretty unbearable. 

She’s forced to stand, hold Tedros’s arm, and accept congratulations, ridiculous gifts, and simpering attempts at sucking up from a long parade of oddly-dressed nobles. There’s an occasional interval of more sensible, cheerful townspeople, who do seem genuinely interested, but they’re a relative rarity. 

And she  _ has  _ to pretend she likes Tedros.

Well, not right now. To be fair to him, it seems that Tedros has more of a job coming up with things to say about  _ her,  _ seeing as everyone wants to know about his bride-to-be. He’s, admittedly, doing a good job of deflecting questions about whether he knows what she looks like, or not.

Right now, a Duchess with a towering scarlet wig is twittering away to him about an extremely specific type of fabric she thinks Agatha should use for her dress, and Agatha is eyeing the elaborate chocolates someone had brought them hopefully--

“--And I have to ask, Princess-- what’s the reason behind the veil?”

She puts out a gem-studded glove and flicks at Agatha’s veil playfully. Agatha jerks back, suddenly panicked. She hasn’t prepared for this, and she probably should have done. 

Tedros’s grip on her arm tightens, and she’s almost shooting him a pleading glance before she realises a) he can’t help her and b) he can’t see her face.

“Um, I--” Agatha stares helplessly at her. She can’t carry on with these woolly excuses forever, and if she repeats them to everyone, surely everyone is going to start seeing the flaws in them-- including Tedros. 

An idea comes to her, suddenly.

“Well,” she says, forcing a note of mirth into her voice. “I’m sort of acne-prone, and I’m also a public figure. I’d rather thousands of people didn’t see my whiteheads every day.”

It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow, it did. 

The duchess shrieks with joy and claps her hands.

“Oh, how funny! Yes, I understand, your highness, I used to  _ cover  _ my face with gemstones to hide them, but that’s probably so much better for your skin-- do you burn easily, too?”

“Yes.” Agatha says quickly, latching on. “Yeah, sensitive to sunlight in general.”

“ Well, it’s rather fashionable, and topical. Still, poor dear-- how dreadful to not enjoy the heat!”

Agatha hears Hester barely suppress a snort behind her. Thankfully, Tedros is busy bidding goodbye to the woman, and doesn’t seem to notice.

* * *

The next few hours are pretty similar, and Agatha is starting to consider asking for a chair to save her aching feet, when something draws her attention.

Magic.

She’d become used to the trace presence of it, stood next to Tedros as she is-- she’s still not worked out what it was that was causing it, but she and Callis have narrowed down their theories to  _ appearance magic, protective wards,  _ or  _ enchanted clothing.  _ But this is different-- it was glaringly present.

Agatha looks down to the next group, and finds a little girl staring up at her. It’s her, no doubt-- she practically seethes with magic. 

Agatha sees the way she’s avoiding touching anyone, how her hands are held away from her sides, and instantly knows she’s like her.

It’s funny; it’d never really occurred to her, until a few years ago, that there  _ was  _ anyone else like her. Vanessa has always treated her like an oddity, but she and Callis had found a scroll that said otherwise, mentioning a girl fifty years back, born, like Agatha, with a powerful affinity for storm magic. But as far as Agatha knows, she’s disappeared, or is dead. She had no idea there was anyone currently alive like her. 

Fascinated, Agatha gazes at her pale eyes and thin, white-ish hair. She can’t be  _ exactly  _ like her; she doesn’t think a fire spirit would ever be born with that colouring. She’s wearing gloves, but they can’t be enchanted, they’re too thin and the enchantment wouldn’t hold. Both Agatha’s gloves and veil are heavy enough to hold incantation. She’s young; it’s possible that her parents haven’t yet worked out the measures necessary to hold back her magic. 

Or, they don’t really want to.

Unsettled by the idea, Agatha watches the family draw closer.

* * *

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, but nothing really happens. The girl-- who’s name is Morgan, apparently-- is polite enough, but she makes no effort to try and interact with Agatha, even though Agatha is  _ sure _ she can tell. She spends more time looking at Tedros, which makes sense, given he’s their sovereign and is far better known to them than she is. Also, Agatha is less interesting to look at, given you can’t see her face. 

Still, Agatha finds herself a little disappointed as she leaves without event-- though her parents visibly relax as they step off the dais. 

Sighing, Agatha turns back to Tedros--

And is surprised to find he looks almost  _ ill.  _ He doesn’t look pale, but his gaze is slightly unfocused, and Agatha can see his hands shaking. He’s swaying on his feet slightly. 

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.”

“You look unwell.”

“I do feel a bit--”

It’s then that Weatherford appears at Tedros’s elbow with a goblet of something opaque and unidentifiable. 

Agatha stares suspiciously. That was fast. Too fast.

Tedros takes it from him hastily, but he doesn’t drink immediately. Weatherford looks expectant, and Tedros reluctantly takes a tiny sip. Agatha sees his mouth turn downwards in disgust. Whatever it is, it isn’t pleasant.

* * *

On their way out, Agatha is joining more and more dots. The gloves that he and the court always wore, Weatherford’s constant presence, the overprotectiveness around him, the magic presence; it’s clearly something they’re using to stop him keeling over. 

He’s sickly. 

She  _ knew  _ it. 

Vanessa never would have married her off to someone perfect. Well, she was a fool. How was Agatha supposed to nurse him? She could barely  _ touch  _ him without gloves. And what was he supposed to do, if she was coughing up cinders on the floor?

If he died after they were married, Agatha would be left with the kingdom, and--

Or maybe Vanessa wasn’t such a fool, after all. 

Perhaps she was hoping he’d drop dead in a few months, a couple of years. Then Agatha would be left with the kingdom, and Vanessa, as her  _ doting mother,  _ would have unprecedented amounts of influence over Camelot--

She suddenly remembers the bet Vanessa had made to Sophie.

_ She thinks he’ll get a few heirs from you, as fast as possible, then start having an affair and pressure you until you get a divorce. _

What if that was less of a prediction... and more of a  _ plan?  _ Tedros has yet to show much interest in anyone, really, so Agatha feels that the comment about the affair might have just been spite-- but the concept of heirs makes sense, even if it does make her grimace. Agatha would have to be regent until any heirs were of age, but Vanessa could very easily claim Agatha was impaired with grief and exercise her own influence...

A spike of panic hits Agatha, suddenly. This can’t be allowed to happen. She might not be fond of Tedros, but she can’t let Vanessa seize control of one of the most influential kingdoms in the Woods. 

She needs to find out what’s wrong with Tedros. 

Which means getting closer to him. 

She’s aware that it’s not fair to get familiar with him for her own purposes, but what choice does she have? 

Besides, it’s what she’s supposed to be doing anyway, isn’t it?

They stop at the end of the corridor, in front of a huge, gilded mirror. Presumably, here is where they’ll break off. 

Tedros still looks ill, but he makes a good attempt at his usual smile as he bids her goodbye.

“I’ve got some duties to attend to. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Now is as good a time as any to stop being dismissive, Agatha thinks. 

But just as she opens her mouth to respond, she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

She jerks. 

It’s very, very rare that she forgets she’s wearing the veil. Even though it’s enchanted to mean she can see perfectly well, she still knows that it’s  _ there.  _

But it jars her, when she catches sight of her reflection. The contrast between her and Tedros is so startling that she nearly recoils. He, blonde and beautiful and flawless in his silver doublet, and she, silent and unreadable and dour in her black veil.

_ I think he’ll turn tail at the wedding, the second he takes that veil off. _

“Yes,” she says curtly. “I will.”

She dips a messy curtsey and turns away, back to Hester. 

She knows they’ve made a pact, but they’re not in public. 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t  _ matter _ .

_ I’ll start tomorrow,  _ she tells herself as she follows Beatrix and Dot back through the palace, Hester clattering along behind her.  _ Or at dinner, even.  _ But she can’t stomach it, now. It’s too much effort. 

She desperately hopes she’s wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like that's lowkey convincing. it's wrong but it's pretty convincing good job agatha  
> what's that drink? it's a plot point I came up with and added in whilst writing this today lmao


	9. suspicions

“I don’t understand Agatha.” mutters Tedros, sitting cross-legged on his bed in his undershirt. “I don’t understand a  _ thing  _ about her.”

Beatrix bites her tongue from where she and Dot are tidying the vanity.

“Like what?” she asks tentatively. 

Tedros scratches at a stain on one of his gloves. Beatrix can’t help but think that, sitting sulking on his bed, as barefoot and dishevelled as he is, he looks his age. Maybe even younger. 

“Where do you want me to  _ start?  _ The veil? The gloves? The terrible relationship with her mother? Her...  _ cousin?” _

“Odd choice to bring a cousin with her, don’t you think?” asks Beatrix innocently. 

Tedros shoots her an irritated look. 

“Bea, I’m not  _ completely  _ stupid. Sophie has the royal surname, is the spit of Vanessa, and she nearly blurted out the whole thing before Agatha stopped her. A bastard sister for sure.”

“She could be lying to make you like her more.” points out Beatrix. A little reverse psychology never hurt--

But Tedros just rolls his eyes. 

“No, Agatha was too quick to shut her up. Plus, neither Vanessa nor Prince Stefan have-- or had-- any siblings. Whatever. She’s wasting her time, Agatha is the one with the political advantage.” he frowns. “And then--”

“Oh, there’s more?” snorts Beatrix. 

“The magic I can sense off her.” Tedros leans forward eagerly. “ _ That’s  _ weird.”

“I thought you said it was  _ all  _ weird.” says Dot.

“Well, it  _ is _ , but that’s oddest. What’s all that about? You two serve her, don’t you know--” 

“No.” Beatrix lies calmly. “And even if we did know, we wouldn’t be allowed to tell you. We haven’t told her about  _ you _ , have we?"

“...no.”

“Besides, haven’t you developed a bunch of your own conspiracy theories about her?”

Tedros squints thoughtfully. Dammit. Beatrix hadn't meant for him to start reeling them off--

“Well, at first I thought it was residue from Vanessa. She  _ reeks  _ of it, and even though my senses have been dulled since… you know, the coronation, I can still tell she’s taking appearance magic. So I thought maybe it was just that Agatha being in close proximity to Vanessa made it linger, but now it’s clear that they hate each other, and avoid one another as much as possible. So I don’t see how it can be leftover from her.”

“You think they hate each other?” asks Dot.

“Surely you’ve noticed that the second they’re not being directly observed, Vanessa is glaring at her, and Agatha is making snippy remarks under her breath?”

“... fair enough.” 

“Anyway, I was with Agatha for several hours and it didn’t lessen or weaken, so it’s  _ got  _ to be from her.”

Beatrix is starting to get nervous. She’s never known Tedros to be this observant of well…  _ anything _ , before. Ever. While she doesn’t think he’s going to be able to make the leap to  _ fire spirit,  _ it’s highly likely he’s going to either get the wrong idea, or get dangerously close.

At least he's interested in her--?

“And _then,”_ continues Tedros emphatically. “I thought maybe she had some kind of medical condition they were treating with magic, which maybe accounts for the veil, but apart from the fact her voice is kind of rough and she coughs sometimes, she seems pretty healthy. Also, I asked her, and she brushed me off. Which doesn't necessarily mean anything, but still." 

Beatrix frowns out the window. She’s yet to convince Callis to tell her what the deal with Agatha’s breathing is, because, sometimes, it does just seem to pack up. But she feels Tedros is right; apart from being on the skinny and pale side, Agatha doesn’t seem any worse for wear.

“So,” Tedros says decisively. “You know what I think?”

_ Please be wrong, please be wrong, please be wrong-- _

“I think she’s done a similar thing to Vanessa-- you know, with appearance magic? And it’s either gone wrong, or worked  _ too  _ well.”

_ He’s wrong!  _

_ Wait, he’s  _ **_really_ ** _ wrong-- _

“Um.” said Beatrix. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I can sense really strong magic.” says Tedros impatiently, like it’s obvious. “And both she and Vanessa have it on them. So it makes sense that Agatha's would be for a similar reason to Vanessa's right?”

“Er, I suppose--”

Beatrix shoots Dot a nervous glance. Dot, stood behind Tedros, shrugs helplessly.

“But why would she wear the veil if it had  _ worked _ ?” Tedros leans forwards conspiratorially. “So, I think that it’s either gone wrong, and made her look really weird,  _ or  _ it’s gone way too well, and she’s so beautiful they’re worried she’ll get kidnapped or something.”

Beatrix stares at him. She gets the impression that Dot is trying not to laugh, given she's biting her knuckles. He does look comically earnest.

“I mean, I suppose you could be right.” Beatrix says weakly. 

His face falls.

“You don’t know?”

“I already  _ told _ you that I can’t tell you anything!” Beatrix snorts. “Even if I could, I’m not sure myself.”

That’s not  _ totally  _ a lie. She hasn’t been told what happened to Agatha’s face, but she’s pretty sure the scarring isn’t magical. More like something sharp.

“Would that be an issue?” Dot asks, tossing a perfume bottle from hand to hand. It sounds innocent enough, but Beatrix can see her gaze has suddenly turned flint-sharp. She gets like this, from time to time; aggressively defensive of people. It’s admirable that she’s already deemed Agatha worthy of it, but doesn’t necessarily bode well for her relationship with Tedros, if he answers wrongly…

Tedros just blinks, though.

“Which one?”

“Either.” says Dot.

Tedros shrugs.

“I don’t care, to be honest. I’d just like to be sure she doesn’t hate me, because that’d just be awkward.”

“I don’t think she hates you.” says Beatrix, relieved. Even as she says it though, she realises she’s not entirely convinced. 

Tedros pulls a face.

“Well then, I wish she’d show it. If you ask me, it looks like she hasn’t made up her mind. One minute she’s fine, the next she’s closing off--”

He shuts his mouth so fast Beatrix hears his teeth click together. She and Dot follow his gaze--

And find Callis stood in the doorway, watching them with an unreadable expression. 

Beatrix swears internally. How long has she been there?

“Apologies, your majesty.” she says smoothly. “I was looking for Dot or Beatrix, I need help with something.”

Beatrix sees her eyes flicker to the fireplace and gets the hint immediately. They probably need to smuggle burnt sheets out for replacing again. She really wishes Agatha would wear gloves to bed like Tedros does.

Then again, maybe Tedros  _ shouldn’t _ .

“I’ll go.” says Dot brightly. “With your permission, Teddy?”

“Of course.” says Tedros quickly. 

To be fair, it wasn’t as if they’d been doing anything beside gossiping, anyway. 

Dot departs with a cheerful wave, which says she knows  _ exactly _ what just happened and thinks it’s hilarious. Callis doesn’t change her expression at all.

Tedros swears loudly the second they’re gone.

“I’d forgotten that Callis is technically a servant. She can go wherever she wants.” he groans. “She’ll go and tell Agatha what we were saying, won’t she?”

“I don’t know if she will.” muses Beatrix. She gets the impression that Callis is deliberately not meddling in the relationship-- or lack of-- between Tedros and Agatha.

“She will.” sighs Tedros. “She  _ definitely _ hates me.”

It was hard to deny, though, that Callis didn’t seem to have much love for Agatha’s betrothed. 

Beatrix makes a vague noise of acknowledgement and doesn’t reply. She glances out of the window at the sinking sun, then over at Tedros, fidgeting on his bed. The room is colder than it had been before Callis arrived. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” she offers. “You need to get rid of some energy before the sun goes down completely.”

* * *

They don’t get far.

They’re only just into the East Wing before Tedros stops dead, Beatrix nearly walking into his back.

He peeks down the next corridor and groans.

“Vanessa and her maids. Hide.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk past them--”

Tedros isn’t listening, bundling her through the closest door, which turns out to be a disused sitting room. He closes the door and puts his ear to it. 

“Why do you want to know what she’s saying so badly?” snorts Beatrix, but despite herself, she follows him to the door, and cracks it open just a little.

The sound of Vanessa’s heels clicks down the hall, and her voice comes into earshot;

“-- it appears that Sophie told her, in a moment of anger, about my original intentions to disown her. Of course, she knows I can’t do it  _ now, _ not with the wedding _ \--”  _ she huffs, irritated-- “but I suppose it might keep her quiet for a bit, if she knows.”

“ _ Were _ you going to do it?” asks one of the maids.

“Oh, yes.” says Vanessa. “She was terribly hard to deal with in her early teen years. Obviously, all these questions surrounding her… well, she’s more trouble than she’s worth, isn’t she?”

She and the advisors laugh.

Tedros and Beatrix frown at each other. They both know Vanessa has no love for Agatha, but neither have heard her openly disparage her like this before.

"I'm surprised he hasn't called it off, really." Continues Vanessa. Beatrix, peering through the very slightly open door, can see her examining a portrait to the left of them. "She's had a terrible attitude about the whole thing, and she's probably picking fights the second my back is turned."

Beatrix raises her eyebrows in question at Tedros, who thinks for a moment, then shakes his head.

_ Not all the time.  _ He mouths. Beatrix rolls her eyes. So  _ some _ of the time, then.

"And then there's the issue of the veil." Drawls Vanessa. Beatrix grimaces to herself. Tedros's eyes widen. Is he about to find out--

"Is she planning on telling him before the wedding?" Asks a maid.

Vanessa laughs.

"Of course she's not. She'd die of shame, and she'd be right to do it. Sophie and I have been making bets on how long the marriage will last, and Sophie thinks that he'll leave her at the altar, the second the veil is off. I must admit, I think I'm going to lose some money to her." 

They all laugh. Tedros and Beatrix look at one another, appalled. 

"His court has been asking around, about portraits of her." Says someone. Vanessa snorts.

"They're wasting their breath, she's never had one done. I did offer-- I said I'd put it up in the Entrance Hall for everyone to see-- but she refused me. Don't say I didn't try, hm?"

They laugh again, and start to move away. 

Beatrix is white-knuckled with anger, at this point. Tedros just looks confused. 

"I'll see how it goes." Vanessa says, voice fading. "But personally, irritating as it is, I'd prefer it if they remained at odds, like they are now. Otherwise, I might have to…  _ intervene _ ."

Whatever the maids say in reply is lost in the fading sounds of heels and rustling skirts. 

The second they're gone, Tedros loses his balance, and he and Beatrix tumble out of the door and land on the rug outside.

"What the  _ hell _ was that?" Splutters Tedros.

"You  _ said _ you thought they hated one another."

"I did! But that… that was just  _ cruel _ ." 

Beatrix, who rather thinks they've just seen Vanessa's truest colours, opens her mouth to comment--

There's a noise at the end of the corridor, and both of them spin.

They're just in time to see the hem of a black dress snap around the corner and disappear.

_ Agatha _ . 

Following her mother. So, presumably, she had heard everything  _ they’d _ just heard.

Swearing, Beatrix staggers to her feet. 

"Was that Agatha?" Tedros splutters, following her lead.

"I think so." 

Tedros looks stricken.

"But that means she'll have heard--"

"Everything." Sighs Beatrix. "Unfortunately, I don't think it's the first time she's heard it."

"But  _ we _ heard it." 

"And that's no doubt why she ran off."

Tedros looks worriedly after Agatha.

"Maybe we ought to follow--"

" _ No _ ." Beatrix says sternly. "There's no way she'll want to talk about it."

"But we could--"

"Trust me, Tedros." Says Beatrix firmly. "Don't follow her. I'll go and see her later." 

She's glad he values her as a friend, not a servant, because he could have quite easily commanded her to come with him, and done it anyway.

But he always seems to forget he can do that.

* * *

"That's  _ terrible _ !" Bursts out Tedros a few minutes later, kicking the door to his rooms open. It's clear he's been struggling to hold in any comment. "Why would Vanessa say something like that?" 

"Looks like your theory has some weight behind it." Sighs Beatrix. No use denying it. Better to steer him in a partly right direction than a completely wrong one. 

"But which  _ one _ ? She could have meant either. If she was willing to put her portrait up--"

Beatrix, who thinks that was probably just cruelty disguised as kindness, shrugs.

"I don't know."

"No wonder Agatha's so hostile." Says Tedros sadly. "Do you think Sophie really said that?"

"Yes." Says Beatrix, without hesitation, because she  _ knows _ she did. That fight was parrotted word-for-word in the servant's quarters about two hours after it happened.

“Oh.” Tedros rubs his face, visibly agitated. Beatrix grimaces at the brown-ish stains on his gloves. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Bea? No wonder she’s rebuffing me, if they’re telling her things like that!”

Beatrix looks warily at the frost on the windows, which hadn’t been there when they’d left.

“Try and prove you’re not taken in by Vanessa.” she says slowly. “Make it obvious you’re on Agatha’s side, not her’s.”

Tedros nods.

“I need to think of something I can do at the tournament, it’s the first public event since she arrived, so--”

He turns towards the sitting room table and his face crumples. 

Another goblet has been deposited there, steaming faintly. 

Beatrix grinds her teeth. He’s already _ had _ one today, and there’s no need for a second, not when it has the effect it does... 

“Don’t drink it.” she urges. 

Tedros looks helplessly at the frosty windows.

“I should.”

“Don’t be stupid.” snaps Beatrix. “Don’t drink it.”

“But Weatherford said--”

“Weatherford’s a meddling  _ git _ !”

“Good to know you think so highly of me, Beatrix.”

The two whirl to find Weatherford stood in the doorway, watching them mildly. Beatrix grits her teeth. If he expects her to apologise, he’s got another thing coming--

But he doesn’t. He just smiles sadly.

“Besides,” he says. “Who are you to stop the King?”

Beatrix turns back to find Tedros picking up the goblet, but she can see his hands shaking.

“Why are you bothering with a second one?” demands Beatrix.

“Well,” shrugs Weatherford, “We had some left from showing it to Queen Vanessa.”

Panic seizes Beatrix.

If Vanessa knows what it does, then she's going to want to give it to--

“Permission to go to see Princess Agatha?” she asks Tedros. With some effort, Tedros swallows his mouthful and shrugs.

“If you like.”

Weatherford draws himself up.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea--”

_ “Who are you to stop the King?” _ mocks Beatrix, and elbows him out of the way on her way out.

* * *

She runs the entire way, and by the time she bursts into Agatha’s sitting room, she’s worried she’s too late--

But Agatha is too suspicious of Vanessa for that.

She finds her stood by the table, staring apprehensively at the still-full goblet, and sags in relief.

“Don’t drink it.” she coughs. 

“I don’t take food from my mother.” says Agatha coolly. Beatrix can’t help but notice she’s veiled herself again. 

“Good.” Beatrix snatches it and marches into the bathroom to throw it down the sink. 

“What is it?” demands Agatha, following her. “How do you know what it is?”

“It’s what you saw Weatherford give Tedros this morning. You don’t want it.”

“What is it, some kind of medicine?”

Beatrix grimaces.

“Something like that. I believe your mother thought it would be beneficial for you to have it, as well.”

“I’ll keep my distance from it, then.” There’s a note of tension in her voice. She must have seen them earlier, then.

“Do.” Beatrix shakes her head. “How do you put up with her?”

“Have to, don’t I?” says Agatha teresely. Beatrix looks sadly at her.

“You mustn’t believe that witch. You’re perfectly good-looking, Agatha--”

“ _ Don’t,  _ Beatrix.” snaps Agatha, beating her hands down as she makes a grab for her veil. “Instead, answer me this. What does Tedros know?”

“Not a lot.” Beatrix tells her. “He’s got his own theories, but they’re not right. Your mother didn’t say much he didn’t already assume.”

“So he knows--”

“No, he thinks you’ll be an extreme either way.” interrupts Beatrix. “And he can’t work out which one.”

For a second, Agatha just looks at her.

Then she bursts out laughing.

“He thinks I could be  _ beautiful?  _ Bless him, he’s going to be so disappointed--”

Beatrix grits her teeth. She hates how Agatha always does this. 

“I don’t think he cares either way.”

Agatha snorts.

“Admirable attempt, but he definitely does. You know how much time he spends looking at himself.”

“That’s different.” says Beatrix. 

“How?"

She can't tell her how.   
“...Hard to explain.” she says vaguely.

“Hmm.” Agatha doesn’t sound convinced. Not surprising, given her lack of explanation. Beatrix tries to change the subject;

“He hasn’t guessed a thing about your magic, though.”

“Oh.” Agatha considers this. “Well, that’s good. I suppose that’s a dealbreaker, too.”

Beatrix wonders how Callis hasn’t broken down with the effort of trying to convince this girl that not everything about her is appalling. 

“Listen,” she says. “I’m not going to try and solve all your problems for you, because, frankly, you’re both perfectly capable of doing it yourselves. But I’ll tell you that he’s desperately trying to think of a way to tell you he’s on your side.”

“He could just… tell me.”

“Yes he  _ could,  _ but he’s not like that.” says Beatrix impatiently. “He overcomplicates. It doesn’t matter. Point is, he’s not fond of Vanessa either, so if you’re going to be able to curb her influence at all, it might be worth actually being  _ nice  _ to Tedros, who currently thinks you hate him.”

“This… sounds like you’re trying to solve all my problems for me.”

“ _ Listen, woman! _ ” barks Beatrix. “You can’t hate him! He’s not done anything wrong!”

“I don’t!”

“Then  _ prove it!” _

“I’m going to!” says Agatha desperately. “I’m going to, but I just--”

“No  _ buts _ ! Curb that tongue of yours, for god’s sake, or at  _ least  _ direct it so you’re not just arguing with him--”

“What are you, my  _ mother _ ?”

“I’d hope not.” says Callis wryly from the doorway. “That would make things even more complicated.”

Beatrix wheels to her.

“Tell her--”

“I  _ have _ told her, and I believe she did intend to listen.”

Agatha mutters something bad-temperedly. Callis snorts.

“I think she actually developed her own intention to do it herself, though.”

“Well, hooray for that.” grumbles Beatrix. “Next step, actually  _ showing  _ it. Maybe at the celebratory tournament in a few days.”

She’s met with silence. Beatrix frowns.

“What?”

“What’s a tournament?” asks Agatha.

Beatrix stares at her.

“What’s a-- you don’t have tournaments in Gavaldon?”

“Like… game tournaments? Chess?” 

“Um, no. Jousting. Things like that.”

“Jousting?”

_ Oh my god, they don’t know what jousting is-- _

“...you,” says Beatrix slowly. “Are about to get an immense culture shock.”

Callis and Agatha look apprehensively at one another.

Beatrix brightens immediately.

“Actually, it’s a  _ perfect  _ opportunity. You can ask Tedros all about it, he’s competing.”

This is perfect. He’ll come back from his match all tousled and sweaty and, presumably, victorious. Agatha will coyly ask him to explain it to her, because it’s not the done thing in her country, and she doesn’t  _ quite  _ understand  _ this  _ bit, and because it’s so loud they’ll have to sit close together, and then--

Beatrix is brought back to earth by the voice of the person who has never done anything  _ coyly  _ in her life.

“He’s  _ competing?” _ asks Agatha apprehensively. “What does he have to do?”

Beatrix grins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're both wrong! and yet they're both right! but they're not! but somehow tedros is closer than agatha????? how's that happened lmao.  
> I had a good time writing a beatrix POV, I've never done it before but she's rly fun!!  
> I told you I'd be updating a lot lmao


	10. the tournament

“Aren’t you going to be hot?” asks Dot, taking in the all-black outfit as Agatha appears next to her in the Entrance Hall. “It’s a lovely day.”

Agatha turns to stare at her. 

“Oh, right.” mutters Dot. Agatha snorts.

“How  _ does  _ that work?” asks Dot curiously as they move towards the steps. “Like, do you feel heat but just not care? Or do you not register it at all? What about cold?”

Agatha shrugs.

“I can tell whether it’s hot or cold, but since my body temperature is so high, nothing ever makes much of an impression.” she says. “I do best in extreme heat.”

Dot’s eyes widen.

“So that’s why you wear all this black? To try and be as hot as possible?”

“No, I just like black.”

“...oh.” Dot frowns. “What about extreme cold, then?”

Agatha shrugs.

“I’d like to see, but, frankly, I’ve never been anywhere cold enough to make an impression on me.”

“Snow? Ice?”

“I just melt it.”

“Aww. That’s such a shame.”

Agatha makes a vague noise of assent. She’s never seen the point of snow. It’s just inconvenient, and it doesn’t look  _ that  _ nice. 

They reach the bottom of the steps and are joined by Callis and Beatrix, who are, oddly, muttering together. Agatha can’t help but thank her lucky stars for the conspicuous absence of Vanessa--

Oh.

Agatha turns away bad-temperedly when she sees Sophie lurking at the back. It hadn’t occurred to her that Sophie would have to sit with them, as well. 

“Agatha--” Sophie starts towards her--

“ _ So _ ,” Agatha cuts loudly across her. “What are we doing today?”

“Like I said, going to watch a celebratory tournament.” says Beatrix brightly. “It’s not hard, all you need to do is sit in the royal box and clap when people win, and it’s not even as if you’ll have to school your expression. Just wave and clap and sit up straight.”

Agatha, who thinks that sounds suspiciously like parades she’s had to go to at home, isn’t convinced.

“Right.” she says. “Er, where is it?”

“Just in the grounds, we can walk there.” says Beatrix brightly. “Come on!”

She sets off, and Agatha hurries to catch up with Callis. 

“Where’s Vanessa?”

“She’s meeting us there.” jumps in Sophie, rushing up to walk next to her. “Agatha--”

“Of course  _ you  _ know, lapdog.” snarls Agatha, and barges past her. 

* * *

Dot was right; it is a lovely day. Despite the constant, irking presence of Sophie bobbing along behind her, Agatha can’t help but enjoy the sun beating down on her back as they make their way through manicured gardens and reflecting pools. Whatever Dot and Beatrix have given her to wear, it’s a lot lighter and looser than her usual clothes, so, hopefully, she’s not going to stop breathing properly thanks to the corset/veil combination and faint in public, like she’s done before. 

Callis has pulled forward to walk with Beatrix-- what  _ are  _ they talking about?-- and Dot is too slow a walker to keep up with Agatha, so she’s forced to walk alone with nothing to distract her from Sophie’s huffing as she hurries along, trying to keep pace with her--

Eventually, Agatha gets fed up.   
She stops, motions for Dot to keep walking, and wheels on Sophie.

“Is there something you  _ want?” _

“Yes!” says Sophie, immediately. “I wanted to say--”

“You want to come crawling back, now Tedros has made it clear he’s not interested? Is that it? You’re here to  _ grovel _ ?”

“I-- Agatha, listen... I was wrong to say what I said.”

“Which bit?” demands Agatha, setting off after the others again.

Sophie cringes, hurrying after her.

“Well, all of it, but especially the bit about--”

“ _ This?”  _ Agatha plucks impatiently at her veil.

“Yes. It was just cruel--”

“You’re going to deny you made that  _ bet  _ with Mother, then?”

Sophie’s mouth tightens. 

“No. I did. I’m sorry for it, but I won’t deny it.” her brows draw together. “When you’re with her, she has a way of making you think it’s okay--”

“Wow, does she? Tell me, where was she when you repeated it to  _ me,  _ then?”

Sophie doesn’t reply immediately. Then she says;

“I didn’t mean it, Agatha. I was only doing what she told me to do because I was jealous. I let Mother exploit it.”

“Jealous.” mutters Agatha, bashing a shrub out of her way. “ _ Jealous.” _

“You’ve seen him! You’ve seen this place! You’re going to be mistress of  _ all of this,  _ there’s no way I couldn’t be at least a little--”

“You’ve always had  _ everything!”  _ barks Agatha. “She even wanted to make you heir!”

“I shouldn’t have told you that, either--”

“And now you have the audacity to be  _ jealous  _ of me over something I didn’t even  _ ask for?” _

“Yes!” cries Sophie. “You know how envious I get, I can’t help it, but I promise I’ll make it right--”

“How? By cozying up to Mother the second I’m gone?”

Sophie grabs her arm, then swears and lets go. She never remembers how hot Agatha gets when she’s agitated.

“ _ Ow-- _ yes! As your inside man, yes! I’ll tell you everything she’s saying, I’ll make sure she doesn’t get in your way, I’ll play the part of the perfect daughter. But really,  _ I’ll be on your side. _ I’ll be your biggest fan. I’ll help with the wedding, everything, just  _ please  _ let me apologise for this.”

Agatha grinds her teeth. It’s tempting, and she has to admit she misses Sophie’s company when she’s not there, but after everything that’s happened over the last few days... she’s not feeling very generous.

“What made you change your mind?” she asks tersely. Sophie frowns. 

“You’re my sister. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Agatha nearly scoffs, but all she says is;

“We’re half-sisters.” 

Sophie looks hurt, and she sighs. 

“Prove that you’re not going to carry on acting like Mother’s pawn, and I’ll think about it.”

Sophie perks up.

“I won’t let you down, Aggie!”

“I’m not so sure.” says Agatha grimly, and goes to catch up with Callis before Sophie can reply. 

* * *

The tournament is being held in the centre of a cluster of blue and gold striped tents. Agatha looks at them with interest as they approach-- it reminds her of a festival, or a circus. 

She looks at Callis.

“Do  _ you  _ know what happens here?”

“No idea.” says Callis. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

Agatha frowns. 

“Then what have you been talking to Beatrix about?”

“Tedros.” says Callis, seemingly truthfully.

“ _ Tedros?  _ What about him?”

“None of your business, nosey.” says Callis cheerfully, tugging at her veil. “You wouldn’t care, anyway.”

Agatha, who’s fairly sure she  _ would  _ care, frowns. 

“...okay?”

A few guards meet them at the gates, and they’re led through a maze of striped fabric. 

“Where’s Hester?” Agatha asks, not seeing her familiar scowl underneath the helmets. Callis shrugs.

“Maybe she went ahead.”

Agatha looks around for her, but finds herself distracted by the sheer number of people around her. Mothers dragging their children away from stalls selling sweets, teenagers clustered together excitedly, young couples, old ladies haggling over the price of spiced cider or toffees--

“Is everyone invited to this?” she asks. 

“Yeah!” says Dot brightly. “The whole kingdom can come, if they like. It’s a big event, people love a good tournament.” she grins and raises her eyebrows. “ _ Especially _ if the King is competing. Improves the view.”

Agatha decides to ignore the comment, following Callis and Beatrix up a rickety wooden staircase, which leads into one of the tents.

“He’s popular with the people, then?”

“Ooh, yes! You should have heard the wails of disappointment when they announced he was officially betrothed. But they seem to like you just fine, so most people must have gotten over it. Everyone else not hoping to marry him has always been fond, though.”

Agatha wonders what he could have done to win such adoration. 

They are guided through the tent, and directed out of the other side, into a high, shaded box lined with seats. Two carved wooden chairs dominate the centre of the box, while the rest is lined with benches. Agatha, supposing they’re intended for Tedros and maybe an advisor, turns towards one of the benches-- until Callis prods her in the back.

“The second one is for  _ you _ . Sit down.”

“Oh-- right. I’ll just--” 

Reluctantly, Agatha does as she’s told, and practically the second she’s sat down, cheering erupts from the audience already seated in the stands below them. Agatha tenses.

“Er, is that--”

“Yes, it’s for you. Wave.” sighs Callis, plonking herself down on the bench to Agatha’s left. Agatha can’t help but notice Vanessa, who’s just entered behind them, looks irritated to see Callis has already taken that spot. Apparently she’s intending to play the role of the doting mother, today. Shame she doesn’t want to play it  _ every _ day.

Sighing, Agatha waves half-heartedly-- then notices Callis glaring at her, and remembers she’s supposed to be making an effort. She sits up straighter and tries her best to look more enthusiastic. 

Looking around, though, it’s easier than she’d thought; there’s lots of things to interest her. The royal box is hung with a banner bearing the dragon crest, and a huge display of flowers has been deposited at the base of it, presumably to celebrate the advancing wedding. The seating surrounds a long, rounded ring, strewn with sawdust. There are tents at the west of it-- presumably where the competitors will emerge from-- and Agatha can hear horses whinnying. Pages scamper back and forth over the ring, and she can hear shouts and orders from inside the tents.

There’s a movement from behind her, and Agatha turns to see Anadil seating herself on the bench just behind Callis. Agatha leans eagerly over to her, relieved; she’s hardly seen Anadil at all over the last week, and she’s missed her. More than anything else, when she’s around Anadil, she feels more at ease-- Anadil’s cool, calm attitude and her flawless appearance makes Agatha feel more legitimately royal. She looks every inch a Countess in her high-necked black gowns that contrast with her white hair and alabaster skin. Agatha will be glad to have her in her court when she’s Queen. 

“Anadil--” she begins, then frowns. “What do you look so pleased about?”

For while she’s as po-faced as ever, Agatha can’t help but notice the savagely anticipatory gleam that’s come into her red eyes. 

“You’ll see.” Anadil says calmly, but this is as close to smiling as Anadil ever comes in public, and Agatha is instantly suspicious. There’s only one person who ever has this effect on her.

“... where’s Hester, Anadil?”

“I said you’ll see.” repeats Anadil. “They’re about to begin, now.”   
Agatha stares at her. If Hester is involved in this, somehow, and it’s a competition--

There’s only one thing Hester would compete in.

“Anadil. They’re not…  _ fighting,  _ in this tournament, are they?”

* * *

They are.

The Gavaldon delegation (minus a nonchalant Anadil) gawk, aghast, as an unconscious knight is dragged from the ring, bleeding in several different places. His competitor makes a victory lap, roaring in triumph and holding the bloody mace he’d beaten the other man with aloft.

“This is what you do for  _ fun?”  _ splutters Agatha to Dot and Beatrix. 

“Pay attention, he’s paying homage to you!” scolds Beatrix.

“He’s  _ what--” _

Agatha whips back to the ring, to find the knight kneeling before the box.

“He wants you to acknowledge his victory.” murmurs Dot. “Raise your hand or something.”

Bewildered, Agatha does as she’s told. The knight beams in triumph, exposing bloodied teeth from where he’d been punched in the mouth, and bows deeply to her. Then he goes marching off, waving to the cheering crowd, and the usher comes out to announce the next pair to duel.

Agatha looks at Beatrix.

“How many of these duels  _ are _ there?”

“Mm, a fair few,” says Beatrix brightly, flipping through the programme. “Half a dozen? Then we’re onto the melee, which is like, a bunch of people fighting at once, until there’s one winner, and  _ then--”  _ she grins. “It’s  _ jousting _ . There’s a bunch of stuff afterwards, too, but--”

“Let me guess, that’s what Tedros is doing?” guesses Agatha, eyeing her expression. 

“It might be.”

Agatha looks between her two maids.

“And… are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Nope!” they chorus, and turn back to the ring. 

It’s not all as horrifying, though. 

“This is just embarrassing.” Agatha groans to Callis, watching the two spindly, scrawny knights swinging daggers at one another half-heartedly. “Who forced them to fight?”

“Probably got rich fathers who want to improve the family’s standing.” mutters Callis, as one of the boys trips over his own trailing cloak and goes sprawling in the dust. His opponent stands there dumbly. 

The crowd boos. A man in one of the lower boxes has his head in his hands. The other one is shouting;

“STAB HIM, WILLAM, YOU USELESS GIT, HE’S RIGHT THERE!”

Willam, to his credit, does try, but his opponent kicks him in the knee and he goes tumbling to the ground, as well. The booing increases in volume. The usher starts counting down;

“TEN… NINE…”

Willam drops his dagger and aims a punch at his opponent. The other boy responds in turn, and they resolve to brawling on the floor. The booing increases, and someone hurls a paper cone of hazelnuts at them. 

“What’s he counting down to?” asks Agatha. 

“Until they declare it a truce, because neither can win.” whispers back Dot. “They usually call these ones off fast, because everyone hates them.”

“...ah.”

A horn blows, and squires rush in to yank the still-brawling boys apart and drag them back towards the tents. 

The next duel is just as bad, but for different reasons. The two knights spend at least five minutes prior to the duel professing their love for various ladies in the crowd, while the crowd mutter and yawn, unimpressed.

“I thought they’d like this sort of thing.” says Agatha, confused. Beatrix grins.

“Usually they would, but everyone knows about these couples. They’re old news in court, and they do this  _ every  _ time. People want some new material.”

“Oh.” Agatha sits forward as the horn is blown to start the new match. “Well, are they any good at fighting?”

“... depends what you class as  _ good at fighting, _ really.” says Beatrix.

Agatha sees what she means when the two are carried away, groaning, less than two minutes later. Their shared tactic seems to have been  _ whale on opponent with large club, disregard self-defence,  _ hence why they both managed to get wiped out within ten seconds of one another.

The crowd are laughing and cheering, though. They seem to be something of a constant presence at these things, because several people are waving banners with their crests on. 

“Don’t any actually  _ good _ people fight these duels?” asks Callis despairingly. 

“Doesn’t appear so.” mutters Anadil. 

“All the skilled knights want to participate in the melee.” says Beatrix. “You can prove yourself better. It’s up next, you’ll see what I mean.”

* * *

The melee consists of twelve knights, picked from a variety of families, clans, and even countries. They stand at specific points, spaced out around the ring, and wait to be announced.

“The rules are different in different places.” Beatrix supplies as Sir Bastain is announced to the cheering audience. “We fight it on foot, and the only rule is  _ don’t kill anyone on purpose,  _ so the weapons are slightly blunted. Last man standing wins.”

Agatha, who has decided to give up on being shocked, just nods.

“Right.” she leans forward to get a proper look at the knight stood below them. “Is that a woman? Funny, she looks like--”

_ “Representative from the Gavaldon delegation, Captain Baumann!” _

Agatha’s jaw drops. Hester lifts the visor of her helmet and grins her shark’s grin at them. 

Agatha starts to protest-- and then is immediately distracted by Anadil, who’s just whipped a scarlet handkerchief from somewhere, and is now throwing it down to Hester, looking far too pleased with herself. Hester bows to her and tucks it into her gauntlet. The crowd screeches with excitement. It’s clear they love pretty much anything to do with their future Queen. Agatha isn’t sure how she feels about that.

_ “Are you both mad? _ ” she splutters as Anadil sits back down, cackling quietly to herself. “She’s going to get mauled!”

“I don’t know if she is, you know.” muses Callis. “You saw Hester fight that man who tried to grab you. Nearly broke his skull. What weapon has she chosen-- ooh, knives.”

Agatha prays that Hester isn’t going to get  _ her _ skull broken.

“Oh ye of little faith.” smirks Anadil. “Don’t be a pessimist, Agatha. She’s probably going to win. Look at all the weedy little boys she’s facing.”

Agatha is pretty sure she’s exaggerating-- while Hester is muscular, they’re all just as muscular, and taller, and have weapons ranging from flails to battleaxes to morning stars.

She’d better be just as good in a melee as she is in single combat.

* * *

She is.

After Hester has flattened three knights and is relentlessly pursuing a fourth, Agatha is cheering along with everyone else. The rest of the knights had made the fatal error of not eliminating her immediately, which meant she’d had time to sneak up.

Rookie mistake, really. Even Agatha could do better than that, though she supposes she’s had practice, fighting with Hester. 

They’ve caught on, now, but it’s too late. 

She barrels into this new opponent, sending him sprawling-- he’d been too fixated on the knight wielding a morning star, and presumably hadn’t expected to be attacked by someone  _ else _ . Then she ducks someone else’s swing gone wild, steps on the first knight’s throat, and bashes his helmet with the hilt of her sword. He does not get up.

“She didn’t kill him, did she?” whispers Agatha to Callis. 

“If he’s unconscious for more than a few minutes, probably.”

Thankfully, with the support of the pages who come to retrieve him, he does manage to totter away. Agatha is  _ sure  _ Hester looks disappointed, and curses her inability to follow even the most basic rule of  _ don’t kill people. _

Someone particularly brave makes a swing for her with a mace, but Hester merely sidesteps, and, whilst he’s off-balance with the force of the swing, jabs the point of her blade into the soft tissue at the back of his knee. Everyone whoops as he goes down on his face in the dust. His mace, still carried by the velocity of his attack, skitters across the battleground and nails someone else in the ankle. He yells and falls. The crowd  _ ooooh.  _ Hester cackles.

“She,” sighs Agatha. “Is having far too much fun.” __

“ _ Get him in the neck. _ ” hisses Anadil from behind her. 

* * *

Hester wins, obviously. Agatha doesn’t know why she bothered doubting her. Shaking her head, she claps along with everyone else as Hester laughs and waves and receives her money.

“This is the big reason she was willing to come with you.” says Anadil as the ring is cleared of swearing knights and fresh sawdust is sprinkled over the blood. “Camelot has a much bigger knight culture than at home, she can show off.”

“Glad to know her devotion to me runs deep.” sighs Agatha, as pages carry out a wooden barrier to the centre of the ring. Another is tottering about with an armful of spiked wooden lances, dropping half a dozen at opposite ends of the fencing that’s been put down. She frowns.

“What’s this for? What’s next?”

She immediately regrets asking it, because her two maids swivel to face her, eyes anticipatory.

“Oh.” she grumbles. “Is it--”

“ _ Tedros  _ is next.” grins Beatrix.

* * *

And so he is.

Agatha is tempted to cover her ears at the volume of the cheers, as two fully-armoured knights emerge from the tent, both on horseback and carrying their helmets under their arms.

Tedros smiles and waves indulgently, charming as ever. His companion, a burly, grey-eyed knight who Agatha thinks she’s seen hanging around with him before, snorts and leans over to mutter something to Tedros. Tedros grins at him, and then they break off, each taking an end of the fencing, on opposing sides. Tedros is closer to them, and Agatha gazes at him, confused. She can’t see how this is going to work; what are they going to do, ride at each other? That can’t be safe. Having said that, nothing today seems to be safe. But what’s the objective? And what have those lances got to do with anything--

She’s so busy puzzling over this, that she doesn’t notice Tedros’s expression until he shifts a little. He looks as if he’s listening to the announcer introducing the match, but she can see the tiny frown on his face and how tightly he holds his horse’s reins. He almost looks… nervous. 

Why? This seems exactly the sort of thing he’d be good at. 

Absently, Agatha looks around for some kind of clue about what he’s about to do, and notices Hester lurking by the entrance to the tents, presumably to watch. She’s threading Anadil’s red handkerchief through her fingers absently. The crowd are murmuring, bored--

An idea comes to Agatha. The crowd are bored, she’s just sitting here, Tedros looks nervous, and-- well, she did promise to make an effort.

Hastily, she whips her handkerchief from her pocket, relieved she’d deigned to bring her nice, embroidered one instead of the one with burn holes in, and stands. 

Immediately, everyone’s heads swivel to her-- even Tedros, who must have seen her move out of the corner of his eye.

Relieved she doesn’t have to try and look adoring, given she’s sure she’s every shade of scarlet it’s possible to be, she leans over the barrier and throws it down to Tedros, like she’d seen Anadil do.

Tedros catches it easily, tucks it into his gauntlet and obviously, the crowd goes absolutely insane. 

Burning with embarrassment, Agatha flings herself back in her chair and resists the urge to scream, hide, or both.   
She can hear Callis laughing, which isn’t helping. She hopes she doesn’t accidentally set herself on fire. Last time she was this embarrassed, she torched her stockings--

She realises Beatrix is grinning up at her.

“What do you want?” she demands. 

“Knew you had it in you, sweetheart.”

Agatha growls, irritated.

“Alright, very funny. I’ve done my bit. Now tell me how the hell this game works.”

“With pleasure.” says Beatrix cheerfully. “See those lances?”

“Yes.”

“They’re made to be brittle. You get three each, and you have to try and break them on the other person.” explains Beatrix as Tedros and his opponent circle back around to pick up another lance. “Whoever breaks the most wins, but if you knock the other person off their horse, you automatically win. And if you don’t break any… er, you’re no good at it, basically, and you both lose. But Tedros and Chaddick are both really skilled, they always get hits in.”

“ _ What?”  _ cries Agatha, aghast. 

“No one usually gets  _ that  _ badly hurt.” says Beatrix, but she doesn’t sound very convinced. 

“Tedros got his shoulder put back in place really quickly, last time.” contributes Dot brightly.

Agatha stares at them, back to being horrified. A melee was one thing, duels another, but this was just barbari--

“ROUND ONE!” bellows the usher, and Tedros and Chaddick both jam their helmets on.

“Oh my god,” breathes Agatha. “He’s going to die before we even get married.”

“You sound disappointed.” says Anadil. “Are you feeling alright?”

* * *

The first round, they both get a point-- Chaddick catches Tedros’s shoulder, and Tedros catches Chaddick’s hip, and both lances shatter on impact. Agatha, who had been distracted by how fast they were riding, jumps so hard at the impact that she hits Callis. Callis just catches her wrist and directs her arm away.

“Hmm.” she says mildly, as they turn at opposite ends of the fencing, and squires bring them new lances. “Looks like they were both aiming to knock the other off.”

“Why  _ would  _ they?”

“Instant win, isn’t it?” grins Callis. 

Chaddick is at their end, now and makes a big show of bowing to Agatha. Tedros takes the new lance with some enthusiasm, which makes people cheer, and Agatha, fairly sure she’s not supposed to encourage this, makes a dismissive gesture at Chaddick, which makes them laugh. Perhaps this whole thing isn’t so hard. It’s not as if she has to smile, or anything.

The second round begins, and this time, it’s only Tedros who gets a hit in-- splintering the lance right in the middle of Chaddick’s chest with a painful sounding impact, whilst Chaddick’s goes wide over his shoulder. The cheering gets louder, and Tedros is facing them rather expectantly when he reaches their end again--

“STOP PEACOCKING AND GET ON WITH IT!” shouts Callis. The crowd laughs, and Tedros raises his hands in defeat and takes the third lance. Agatha has to admit, this whole thing is a good opportunity to play a part.

She’s just getting used to the concept of jousting when the final round starts. Interested to see who’ll win, she leans forwards. Possibly it'll end in a draw, given neither look as if they're willing to yield--

They meet in the middle.

There’s the screech of armour, the crash of splintering wood, Chaddick’s horse whinnies in panic--

Tedros catches the lance in the centre of Chaddick’s chest. It hits, doesn’t break, and it knocks him backwards.

He tumbles back, momentarily catches and dangles in the stirrups-- his horses rears-- then falls clean out of the saddle and lands with a crash in the sawdust, where he lies groaning.

The crowd bellows in triumph. The Gavaldon delegation all shout in shock. 

“Oh my  _ god _ , is he okay?” splutters Agatha, but it’s mostly drowned out by the ecstasy of the townspeople below, who are roaring as Tedros yanks his helmet off and holds his lance aloft in triumph. 

“Probably.” says Anadil. “I mean, he’s moving.”

Tedros hands the unbroken lance to a squire and dismounts, striding over to where Chaddick is coughing on the floor. Laughing, he offers him a hand up, and Chaddick totters to his feet, cursing him so loudly that even they can hear it. He’s holding his shoulder-- Agatha wouldn’t be surprised if it’s dislocated. Tedros just snorts and claps him on the back, leading him over to where medics are streaming from the tent.

Beatrix and Dot are cheering, obviously. Looking down the rows of benches, Agatha can see that Sophie looks rather shocked, and Vanessa is lurking under a parasol, smiling indulgently and waving at random passers-by. Anadil rolls her eyes as Tedros heads back over towards them--

“Pre-planned.” says Callis from beside her, distracting Agatha from whatever Tedros was doing for a moment. “No doubt about it. He had to win in front of you. Were you in on it?”

“ _ Me?”  _ splutters Agatha. “Absolutely not. You?”

Callis smiles.

“No, I just felt the urge to heckle. Well, they were probably glad for our contribution. Made them look more heroic, didn’t it?” she cuts herself off. “Why, hello.”

Agatha follows her gaze--

And jerks back in shock as Tedros swings a leg over the edge of the barrier, perched nimby on the edge of the box.

Did he just  _ climb-- _

Then Agatha notices what’s in his hand, and realises why the crowd are besides themselves. 

He’s taken a rose from the display and climbed the box to give it to her.

Agatha lurches to her feet-- then meets his earnest gaze and freezes.. 

Never in her life has anyone  _ ever _ lavished her with this much romantic attention. Or  _ any,  _ in fact. Staged or not, she finds that in the face of it, she has absolutely no idea what to do with herself. This is the sort of thing that would  _ never  _ happen at home, and now she finds herself at an utter loss.

“What are you...  _ doing?”  _ she croaks. 

Tedros laughs.

"What, I'm not allowed to secure my fiancée's favour upon my victory?"

"Er--"

Then the sound of cheering reaches her again, and she remembers herself.

Hastily, Agatha reaches out to take it, trying to look enthusiastic. He’s very close, and  _ very _ sweaty. She can hear his breathing, still laboured from the match, and his shin is jammed against hers where he’s thrown his leg over the side. She can smell a weird mix of something woody and sharp, mingled with a paint-like, slightly chalky smell, plus sweat and some kind of perfumed oil. She crushes the thought and takes the rose from him-- 

And, immediately, has to stop herself from recoiling. 

When her hand had brushed his gauntlet, she could have sworn it was…  _ hot.  _ She’d felt it  _ burn.  _

But that was impossible. She didn’t feel burning sensations from heat, ever, and there was no way he could possibly be that hot. 

Mind racing, she at least has the presence of mind to tuck the rose into her headdress. Tedros beams, pleased--

Then takes her hand and kisses it.

_ There it is again.  _ But this time, she focuses on it. No, it’s not heat. She knows what heat feels like, and it’s not this-- this is sharper and less familiar.

She can’t be sure, because it’s never affected her before, but it has to be--

_ Cold? _

Confused and slightly dizzy from too many changes at once, Agatha looks up, meeting Tedros’s gaze-- 

And realises there's blood on his face. The impact of the first hit must have been more than they'd thought, because he's got a nosebleed.

"You're bleeding." She says.

"Hmm?" Tedros clearly isn't paying attention. Agatha puts her hand to his face to point it out to him, then hears the cheering and realises how that looks. Awkwardly, she pulls her hand back and clears her throat.

"Give me that handkerchief back, you've got a nosebleed." 

"...Oh!" 

Tedros digs in the fastening of his gauntlet and produces it. Agatha pulls a face.

"Yeah, I'm not touching that. Lean forward and pinch your nose."

"I know what to do." Says Tedros vaguely, looking closely at her.

" _ Do it, then _ , because you're getting blood everywhere."

Tedros blinks. Then he laughs, but he does do as he's told, making a quick dismissive gesture to the crowd to assure them he's unhurt.

“I’ll go and get changed, then I’ll be back. I want to watch the archery with you.” 

He drops down to stand opposite her, smiles, bows to them, and saunters off.

Agatha sags back into her chair, and heart pounding, she watches him go.

* * *

Return he does, not even fifteen minutes later, armour gone and no longer bleeding.

"Don't suppose you want this back?" He offers, dropping into the seat next to her and holding up her handkerchief. Agatha, who has always had hers made in black, so singes don't show up, thinks that's a step too far even for her. Blood  _ and _ sweat.

"Yeah, absolutely not. Thanks for offering."

"Fair enough." Grins Tedros. Then he frowns at her. More specifically, at her veil.

"Aren't you hot in that?"

"Not particularly.  _ You _ were just riding around in a suit of armour in the blistering sun, I could ask you the same."

"...true." admits Tedros thoughtfully. He doesn't answer the question, though. Agatha can't help but notice that he's wearing gloves, again.

Her thoughts drift back to that spike of cold. Had it just been once, she probably could have passed it off as a weird sensation, or her powers doing odd things as a result of her being embarrassed. But  _ twice…  _ twice was no coincidence. 

Watching the archers below, Agatha finds herself wondering about those drinks. Were they doing something to him? Something magically nefarious? Perhaps they weren’t medicine. Perhaps they  _ made  _ him ill. That would explain why Beatrix had warned her not to drink it, and why Vanessa, old cow, would have given it to Agatha. Still, it didn’t make sense. Weatherford was overly-solemn and rather pompous, but his devotion to Tedros was pretty clear, and it seemed unlikely he’d be deliberately poisoning his King-- even if he was just using Tedros as a pawn, a pawn was no use dead. Similarly, there was no way Vanessa wanted Agatha out of the way, not now she was about to secure so much extra power for Gavaldon. And anyway, Tedros has looked ill  _ before  _ he’d drunk it, not after.

She peeks over at Tedros out of the corner of her eye. He looks fine-- serene, in fact-- apart from faint bloodstains above his mouth, though he is holding the armrests of his chair tightly. 

Bewildered, Agatha turns back to the archers. None of this makes sense.

Beside her, Tedros sighs quietly and wedges his foot against the barrier.

“Why has no one got a bullseye yet?” he complains.

* * *

She ends up walking back with him, because everyone else abandons her the second he turns up. Just her luck.

She watches Callis and Beatrix hurry off, glancing over their shoulders at them, and resolves to get Callis back later.

Tedros frowns.

“I don’t think your nursemaid likes me.”

Biting back a  _ you’re right,  _ Agatha shrugs.

“She doesn’t like many people.” she says, which is true. She notices Tedros looking carefully at her. “What?”

“Oh, nothing... well. She hasn’t... mentioned me to you, has she?”

“No.” says Agatha. “She doesn’t talk about you.”

Not unless Agatha forces her to speculate about him, anyway.

“Oh! Alright.”

“ _ Should  _ she have mentioned you?”

“No, no, I was just thinking that if she didn’t like me--”

“She doesn’t waste thought on you.” Agatha reassures him, then winces. “That came out wrong.”

“Oh, no, I-- get what you mean.”

Any chemistry between them has been well and truly dissolved, and they walk in an awkward silence for a few metres, keeping a careful distance from each other--

The silence is broken by a shout, and Agatha turns to see the knight Tedros had duelled earlier jogging up to them.

“Can’t even wait for your injured mate, Tedros? Reprehensible.”

He wedges himself into the space between them and smiles at Agatha brightly. 

“Greetings, fair lady. I don’t think we’ve been acquainted. I think that’s his fault.”

Tedros points half-heartedly.

“Chaddick. My knight.”

_“Sir_ Chaddick, your  _ best  _ knight.” corrects Chaddick. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your fiancée properly?”

“Why?” says Tedros. “You know who she is.”

“ _ No _ manners.” tuts Chaddick. He turns to Agatha and seizes her hand, bowing briefly. “I  _ do  _ know who you are, but I’m pleased to meet you anyway.”

“I suppose I’m fairly distinctive.” concedes Agatha cheerfully, prying her hand out of his grip. Chaddick grins, hefting a bundle armour over his shoulder. 

“A little, a little. You know what she looks like under that, Tedros--?”

Tedros splutters--

Agatha saves Tedros from answering, because she’s just noticed which arm he’s using.

“Why, Sir Chaddick.” says Agatha mildly. “Your shoulder has healed remarkably well.” Chaddick looks down at his supposedly injured arm, then looks at Tedros, dumbstruck. 

_ So Callis's theory was right,  _ thinks Agatha.

“Um--” says Tedros, but then Chaddick starts to laugh.

“She’s good, she’s good!” he laughs, pointing at her. “Well, we couldn’t have him look bad in front of his lady love, could we? So we cooked a little something up.”

Tedros scowls.

“I’d have won regardless.” he tells Agatha adamantly. Chaddick snorts.

“Maybe. But it required an awful lot of skill on  _ both  _ our parts to pull it off, so do I get a handkerchief as well, or--”

He looks hopefully at Agatha. Agatha can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t have another one. Fight over it.”

“Gladly!”

“Oh, give over, Chaddick.” grumbles Tedros, speeding up and yanking Agatha along with him. Chaddick doesn’t bother to follow, but his laughter pursues them up the hill regardless. Agatha, slightly cheered, has to grin as well. 

But the second they're out of earshot and view of anyone else, Tedros turns on her, bewildered.

"Why couldn't you have done that from the start?"

Agatha sighs, but doesn't bother asking him what  _ that _ is. She knows.

"We weren't in public."

"Oh, I know--" Tedros looks quickly around, then leans towards her. "You know we're going to have to maintain it constantly, now? It can't look like we're acting one way in public and another in private, rumours start."

"But we  _ are _ ."

"I know we are! But we shouldn't be!"

Agatha grits her teeth. She knows he’s right, and, frankly, she should have started long before this.

“Alright. I will, I promise.” she pauses. “What are we doing tomorrow? Anything useful?”

Tedros scoffs, starting to walk again.

“Hardly. We’re in the library, learning about all the dignitaries who’re going to come to the wedding.”

“Ugh, really? How many are there?”

“ _ Too  _ many. I don’t even know what half of them look like, though they all seem to know  _ me _ .”

“It’ll be all those portraits they send out.” snorts Agatha. Tedros nods.

“Mm. Probably. You got one, right?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I had no idea what you looked like until I met you. No one told me a thing about you, either.”

“ _ Really?” _

“For all I knew, you could have been a horrible old man.”

Tedros stares at her for a second, dumbstruck with appare nt visions of liver spots and varicose veins. 

Then he bursts out laughing. Agatha groans. She should have known he’d laugh, he’s too vain to do anything else. 

“Stop! You didn’t get one of me, either!”

She knows that it’s because she doesn’t  _ have  _ one, but still--

Tedros is laughing too hard to respond, crouched on the path.

“I’ll push you in this pond!” threatens Agatha. 

“No, no--”

Tedros bats her hands away and falls onto his backside in the gravel instead. Agatha grabs the back of his collar and tries to drag him, he shoves her and tries to get up, she boots him in the back, he staggers off in front of her, and they argue all the way back up to the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6.4k words lmaooooo... i mean,, don't say I never do anything for you I guess?? djshjkd. hope you enjoyed! i did, i love tournaments. lots of clues in this as well!


	11. the perfect bride

“-- and so, the Sultan of Shazabah is one of the most high-profile guests you’re going to have.” says Beatrix, wafting around a painting of a thin, brown-skinned man glaring out at them. “He comes to these functions  _ only  _ to show off, so don’t bother interacting with him beyond cursory greetings.”

Tedros, boots propped on the table of the library, snorts. 

“...right.” says Agatha. “Can I ask a question?”

“Make it quick, we’ve still got at least forty other people to learn about.”

“Why are  _ you _ teaching us about this?”

“Because my mother is a Jaunt Jolie diplomat, I know a lot. Also, I volunteered, because I thought you might kill the other option. Which was Vanessa.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice.” says Tedros dryly. 

“Why are you working here if your mother is a diplomat?” asks Agatha curiously.

“Because I had skills I could apply, same as Dot.”

“Like what _?” _

“Hair. I do hair, she does makeup.”

“... _ what?” _

“Um, Bea--” begins Tedros, but Beatrix talks over him. 

“No, Tedros, I’m not about to start a rumour that you dye your hair. Come on, Agatha, surely you’ve noticed all the weird stuff that people do in the name of fashion, here. You’re getting off lightly with Tedros doing odd things to his eyes.”

Both of them turn to stare at Tedros’s blue eyeliner, and the tiny forget-me-nots stuck in the corner of his eyes. Tedros frowns. 

“I thought it was tasteful.”

“It’s better than the woman with a flamingo painted on her face I saw yesterday.” concedes Agatha.

“No one’s tempted you into doing anything drastic, yet?” 

Agatha glances down at the plum gown with diamond fastenings she’d been given today.

“This  _ is  _ drastic, for me.”

“... _ really?”  _ says Tedros doubtfully. 

“The Empress of Putsi!” interrupts Beatrix loudly. Agatha glances half-heartedly at a portrait of a woman in a goose-feather coat. “Saw the press sketches of Agatha and loudly declared to her entire court that if she was Tedros, she’d have forced you to take the veil off ages ago.”

“I don’t think I want all these people at our wedding.” sighs Tedros. Agatha shifts uncomfortably at the phrase  _ our  _ wedding.

“Isn’t it proper diplomacy to invite everyone?” she says. 

“Oh, of course, but it doesn’t mean I can’t complain.” shrugs Tedros. “She’ll desperately want to come, it sounds like. One of the first to see what you look like.”

Agatha sees him peeking at her out of the corner of his eye and tenses. She hopes he doesn’t think…

She shakes the idea off and snorts.

“You underestimate my mother. She’ll probably shove it back on the second you’ve kissed me.”

Tedros blinks.

“But weren’t you going to take it off at the wedding?”

“Only because it’s  _ necessary _ , and no doubt I’ll have to put it back on.” says Agatha bad-temperedly. “If it were up to me I’d burn it at the altar.” 

Tedros stares at her, shocked.

“You mean Vanessa is  _ making  _ you wear that?"

“Wasn’t it obvious?” snaps Agatha. She turns back to Beatrix, leaving Tedros stricken next to her. “Can we get on with this?”

Beatrix raises her eyebrows.

“Um, sure. The King of Ravenswood, who says he’s going to bring three solid gold pianos as a wedding present--”

* * *

The second Beatrix has gone to fetch the second round of portraits, Agatha knows she shouldn’t have said anything, because Tedros immediately wheels to her.

“Why don’t you take it off, if you hate it so much?” he asks. “Why do you wear it all the time?”

“I don’t wear it when I’m alone, or with Callis and Sophie.” says Agatha coldly, staring straight ahead. “I wear it in public.” 

“But we’re on our own!” says Tedros eagerly, shuffling his chair towards her and looking around furtively. “And you said Beatrix already knows what you look like! We could just--”

He reaches for her veil and Agatha slaps his hand away, slightly harder than she’d meant to. 

“Get  _ off!” _

Tedros recoils, shocked.

“Sorry--” he splutters. “I shouldn’t have-- I just thought--”

“Not  _ now! _ ”

“But there’s no one here--”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe  _ you’re  _ the reason I don’t want to take it off?”

“But I don’t care  _ what  _ you look like!” blurts Tedros desperately. 

Agatha pauses for a second, the spiteful retort she’d been poised to make dying on her lips. She hadn’t expected him to say that, let alone say it like he  _ meant  _ it.

Tedros looks about to say something else, but she doesn’t think it’ll be good news if he does--

“You will.” says Agatha flatly, and turns away. Tedros lets out his breath without saying anything, and falls into a disappointed silence. Agatha doesn’t look at him. 

Even if, by some miracle, he truly  _ doesn’t _ care that she’s got a chunk taken out of her nose and a twisted mouth and a gashed forehead, he’ll care how she got them. And he’ll care how the veins in her neck glow when she has a coughing fit. And her arms. And hands. Because he’ll realise what that means quickly. 

A non-human bride is far worse than an ugly one. 

Being _ both  _ is practically a death sentence.

So, as much as she hates her mother, she’s probably right. 

If she’s honest, she’s genuinely surprised Tedros hasn’t worked it out yet. He heard Vanessa the other day. And yet--

Her stream of fatalistic thoughts is interrupted by Beatrix reappearing with yet more portraits. 

Tedros sighs.

“How many more of these are there?”

“You  _ don’t  _ want to know.” says Beatrix grimly. “Shall we look at the King and Queen of Jaunt Jolie? They’re close allies of your mother’s, Agatha.”

“Close allies of my mother’s courtier’s, maybe.” mutters Agatha, settling in for an extremely boring, awkward day. “I don’t think she does much diplomacy besides going to parties.”

* * *

By the time they’re three quarters through the list, Agatha is reading a book under the table-- the first thing she’d found, something about plants-- and Tedros looks like he’s about to fall asleep, cheek in his hand. Even Beatrix is slumped opposite them, flicking through the royal portraits with no enthusiasm.

“Can’t we just call them  _ all  _ your majesty and say how nice their wedding gift was?” mutters Tedros, rolling his ankle. 

“Probably.” sighs Beatrix. “But they told me I had to show you all of them, and if I did, they’d give me the biscuits the cook keeps on the highest shelf. Stop wiggling your foot under the table, you keep kicking me and it’s distracting.”

“Got cramp. But that’s a pretty good bribe.”

“Isn’t it? So you’ll just have to put up with this. The Marquess of Hamelin--”

Agatha casts a cursory glance over another opulent painting and then goes back to the passage she was reading.

_ \--poison ivy has a distinctive scent, usually described as earthy, green, or woody. It is generally unsafe for human consumption, though it was used in past centuries as a magic suppressant. However, as it became obvious it was unwise for mages or magic spirits to ingest-- producing side effects such as nausea, cramps, fatigue, and even sometimes actually  _ _ exacerbating _ _ magic power-- it fell out of use. While it was effective, especially on weaker mages, it became erratic and unpredictable when used on the more powerful-- _

Agatha rolls her eyes and flicks to a page on buttercups. She’s surprised Vanessa has never tried to use that on her. 

Beside her, Tedros rolls his neck uncomfortably. 

“How long have we got left?”

“It’d be shorter if you stopped complaining.”

Tedros sighs. He moves his hand from his face, and Agatha notices a pink-ish smear next to his mouth.

“You’ve smudged your lipstick.” she tells him. 

His eyes shoot over to her, and he sits up immediately. 

“I have?”

Agatha snorts.

“You wear more makeup than I thought.”

“Er, yeah--” Tedros rifles in his coat pocket, and Beatrix swipes at him with a portrait of some Viscount.

“Don’t get distracted. I’ll sort out your stupid face later, you vain boy.”

Tedros frowns at her, reluctantly dropping the pocket mirror he’d just produced back into his coat.

“Pretty sure you’re not allowed to talk to me like that.”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen you do a million embarassing things and therefore I’m the  _ only  _ person allowed to talk to you like that.”

“... hmm.” is all Tedros says, which seems to indicate to Beatrix that she’s won. She smiles and turns to Agatha.

“I’ve got a list of all the high-profile wedding embarrassments in the past fifty years, so we can make sure you don’t do any of them. Don’t worry, I’ve got a list for Tedros, too. First… er...”

She trails off, staring at the list.

“They’re all things I’m likely to do, aren’t they.” says Agatha tiredly.

“...you’re not going to altar dash, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s one.”

“Out of what, fifty?”

Beatrix doesn’t respond.

“Oh, give me that.” Agatha leans over and takes the paper. “The Princess of Ginnymill didn’t remember her vows, a court Lady of Hamelin spilled wine on her dress, the Queen of Maidenvale set her train on fire by knocking over a candelabra… Beatrix, I could do  _ all  _ of these.”

“We don’t use many candelabras.” says Tedros doubtfully.

“Don’t underestimate me.” says Agatha grimly. “ _ This  _ bride got a nosebleed on her groom, someone else accidentally concussed a bridesmaid, this one ripped her dress--”

She pauses.

“Er… what do wedding dresses look like, here?”

Tedros shrugs, idly waving around another one of those goblets, which had been deposited on the table for him earlier.

“Varies. Haven’t been to many weddings, to be honest, and my parent’s wedding portrait mysteriously disappeared after… everything.”

“... we have to have a portrait done?”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition.” 

“I’ve never sat for a portrait before.” mutters Agatha, flicking the paper back to Beatrix.

Beatrix frowns. Tedros, however, perks right up. 

“I’ll get you some done after we’re married, if you want! I know some good painters--”

He notices them both staring at him and looks sheepish.

“...no?”

Agatha, who feels bad slapping him down for the second time today, tries to be diplomatic.

“...I’ll see how I feel.”

He looks happy that she hadn’t given him an outright no, but turning to watch Beatrix read the list of all the mistakes Tedros could make, she feels as if she should have done. He seems a little  _ too  _ eager, and she’s beginning to get seriously paranoid about what he believes about her. 

“--altar-dashing intentions?”

“No.” says Tedros instantly. 

Agatha grimaces and goes back to her book. 

* * *

On the way out, Agatha’s head is cluttered with faces and names and titles, and even Tedros looks overwhelmed. 

“I’d never even  _ heard  _ of some of those people.” he mumbles guiltily, helping her up the steps to the doors. She doesn’t actually  _ need _ help, but Tedros is clearly just trying to be polite, so she’ll let him. Beatrix has abandoned them for the kitchens. “I feel irresponsible.”

“There  _ are _ a lot of them.” says Agatha reassuringly. “And neither had I.”

“You’re not sovereign, though.” says Tedros miserably. “I wish they let me  _ do  _ more, because this is just making me realise how little I know.”

“You’re only seventeen.” dismisses Agatha. “You’re still a kid, of course you don’t know much.”

“It’s my birthday soon.” says Tedros, brightening a little. “Then I’ll be the same age as you!”

“Not for long, I’m nineteen a few weeks after the wedding.”

“Oh.” Tedros huffs. “That’s not fair.”

“Sorry you’re a baby, I guess.”

“I’m not--”

“You’re younger  _ and  _ shorter. Just because you know how to knock knights off horses with big bits of tree doesn’t mean you’ve got any more status than me.”

“I’m not shorter! That veil thing is giving you extra height!”

“I don’t think so, kid.”

“I’m  _ King!” _

“Funnily enough, I’m aware of that.” says Agatha cheerfully, deliberately getting up in his face to exaggerate the fact she  _ is  _ taller than him, even if it’s just half an inch or so. No matter how close she gets, the veil is enchanted to mean you can’t see through it--

And yet, Tedros is staring intently at her face as if he  _ has  _ got some sort of impression.

Suddenly paranoid, Agatha turns her head away-- and catches that scent on Tedros, again. The incongruous combination of a paint-like, slightly chalky smell, which she now thinks might be his makeup, plus some kind of perfumed oil--

And something earthy, sharp, and green. 

It takes everything Agatha has not to physically react. 

_ Poison ivy?  _

Why would he smell of--

She catches sight of the empty goblet in his hand.

The drinks. 

The  _ drinks.  _

Vanessa had wanted her to take them, too, and Beatrix had stopped her-- as if she knew. And at the tournament, when she’d touched his hand, she’d thought she’d felt--

There’s no way. 

And yet…

Agatha looks between them-- both wearing gloves, again. 

The ivy, the gloves, the faint magic on him--

And, when they’d been meeting the well-wishers, that girl had looked at him, too, hadn’t she?

“--Agatha?”

“Hm?” Agatha looks vaguely back at his face. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention--”

“I was just saying-- I’m sure I can get us out of the portrait, if you really want.” says Tedros, plucking awkwardly at his gloves. “If you really don’t want it done. I’ll spin them some nonsense, they won’t argue.”

Agatha looks at him. 

“Thank you.” she says faintly. She doesn’t really know what else to say. “I-- I’ll think about it.”

Tedros clearly knows the answer is going to be  _ no,  _ but he smiles anyway.

“Alright.” he says. “That’s fine.”

Except it’s not fine. But Agatha’s glad he thinks so.

* * *

She makes her excuses and leaves soon after that. Tedros doesn’t seem suspicious-- if anything, he seems pleased. Agatha wonders if he truly has been worrying about her disliking him, and feels a little guilty. 

But she’s got bigger fish to fry.

She paces the corridors absently, laying out the evidence to herself. The ivy would explain the fact she can only sense  _ faint _ magic on him, as well as the fact he keeps looking unwell. And the tournament-- usually, she barely reacted to temperature. He  _ has  _ to be one extreme or the other, there’s no doubt about it.

But he looks too… human. She’s done her research-- any spirit looks at least a little indicative of the element they control, hence Agatha’s dark hair and eyes, and sharp features, not to mention the glowing veins problem and the whole  _ sometimes I nearly choke to death on embers in my lungs  _ thing. Tedros doesn’t look much of  _ anything _ , except slightly vain and slightly over-perfect--

Slightly over-perfect. He’d seemed almost panicked when he’d smudged his lipstick, and what had Beatrix said? Specific skills. Hair and makeup.

_ No, Tedros, I’m not about to start a rumour you dye your hair. _

No wonder Dot and Beatrix were trusted to be her maids. 

It seems she’s not the only one who’s concealing her real appearance. 

“What do you  _ really _ look like?” murmurs Agatha to herself. There’s no telling what of Tedros is real and what is fabricated. He could even have manipulated his entire face for all she knows. 

She stops at a high window and stares out at the sparkling lake, drumming her hands on the sill thoughtfully. So.  _ So.  _ If he is also magical…  _ how?  _ There’s a possibility he’s not a spirit like her, but some kind of mage or summoner who they’re keeping secret, lest other kingdoms get paranoid. She can’t think of any clues leaning towards either, and there’s plenty of  _ other _ options-- cursed, has fae blood somewhere in his family tree, dabbled too much and something went wrong… anything. And most of her evidence is circumstantial, except the ivy, so…

She needs that book. And possibly several more. She didn’t finish reading the passage, which was foolish -- it could tell her everything. (Or nothing, but she prefers to think it’ll be helpful.) 

She turns and starts to head back the way she’d come, head pounding. 

_ Now  _ this farcical engagement makes sense. As does Vanessa and Weatherford hanging around each other, whispering and scheming and twittering. They’ve arranged this marriage so they can… what? Keep each other at check? She’s no idea what Tedros’s power could be, and whether it’s a match to  _ hers _ or not is impossible to know. Knowing Vanessa, he’s probably a million times more powerful than her and could get rid of her the second he has an impulse to. 

Unlucky for her that Tedros is a hapless puppy-dog of a King who seems oddly agreeable to the prospect of marrying her sour, irritable daughter. The concept of assassinating someone with his magic has probably never entered his head, if it’s even possible. 

_ Or  _ they want to keep the two most powerful heirs in check-- or under their influence. 

Agatha grits her teeth. Once she’s Queen, she’ll send Vanessa packing as quickly as possible, and she doesn’t intend to go home until she needs to be crowned. If that’s in thirty or so years, so be it. She has nothing to yearn for-- home was never exactly welcoming to her in the first place. 

Then again, there’s the issue of Sophie. Much as her half-sister irritates her, she’d rather she stayed with her. But Sophie’s loyalty is still split, no matter how many times she’s come clattering up to Agatha with reports on Vanessa in the past 24 hours, and it’s hard to know who she’d  _ really  _ choose if it came down to it.

Biting her lip, Agatha turns the corner--

And walks right into Vanessa herself. 

“What are you doing?” her mother snaps instantly. She’s alone, then-- no one to maintain appearances for. Agatha scowls, readjusting her veil.

“I’m walking. What does it look like?”

“Why are you lurking near the royal apartments?” demands Vanessa. Agatha glances behind her and notices they’re opposite the door to what are, presumably, Tedros’s rooms. Look fancy enough. 

“I hadn’t noticed I was.” she says coolly. “And I’m not  _ lurking,  _ I’m going to the library.”

“Haven’t you just  _ been _ ?”

“Why should you care? Yes. But now I’m going to get a book.”

“The future Queen shouldn’t be spending all her time in a dusty old library.” sniffs Vanessa. “And they shouldn’t  _ lurk.” _

“You’re right. So, what are  _ you _ doing here?”

Vanessa scowls at her. 

“I was meeting with Weatherford.”

“Why don’t  _ you  _ two get married?” mutters Agatha. “Save everyone the headache.”

“You’re so  _ impertinent.”  _ snaps Vanessa, irritated. “You might be able to get away with it now, but let me assure you, when this comes off--”

“Another veil joke? Get a new jab, mother, they’re becoming stale.” sneers Agatha, trying to push past her--

Vanessa grabs her collar.

“You think you’ve done the job because the two of you pulled that stupid stunt at the tournament.” she says. “But I can assure you, your work is not done. It will  _ never  _ be done. You’re going to need to be the  _ perfect  _ bride, and you know it. Else your newfound popularity,  _ and _ that of your boy King, is going to disappear very quickly.” she leans closer. “ _ Understand _ me, Agatha. You can’t put a foot out of line. Else you’ll undo everything.”

“I don’t want your advice.” growls Agatha, pulling free. Vanessa lets her go, but her face is uncharacteristically serious. 

“You should.” she says. “I’m your mother.”

“Perhaps if you’d proved that, I might.” says Agatha coldly.

They stare at each other for a minute.

“Don’t you have an advisor to go and scheme with?” demands Agatha. 

“In Gavaldon, they adore me.” says Vanessa faintly. “And they’re unsettled by you. But here, it’s the other way around. They don’t care for me...”

Agatha stares at her, disgusted. She should have known. Vanessa’s obsession with validation from being adored and loved hasn’t disappeared simply because it’s not her in the limelight. If anything, it’s been exacerbated. 

“Perhaps someone else controls the narrative, here.” she says. 

Vanessa looks at her, for a minute. Her hand twitches up, for a second, as if she was about to try and touch Agatha’s veil--

Then she shakes herself slightly, and seems to come back to her usual senses.

“I have a meeting.” she says. “If I hear you’ve been at the library, there’ll be trouble. Can’t you just get a servant to bring you things, like Sophie does?”

She brushes past her and marches off. Agatha watches her go, chest heaving. She’s getting more obsessive. That doesn’t bode well for anyone. 

Wringing her hands, she wonders whether she ought to just ignore Vanessa, but her comments are weighing on her more than usual-- probably because she’s right. 

Agatha turns to look at her reflection in the nearest mirror-- a huge, full length gilded thing. Hardly  _ perfect bride  _ material. And she’s not going to get any better, not if she keeps ignoring the briefings and acting out--

Suddenly panicked, she turns away, resolving to make more of an effort, maybe she’ll get Callis to test her on the Woods leaders, or--

Something catches in her chest.

_ Oh, not again.  _

Agatha only just claws her handkerchief out of her pocket before she collapses into another fit of coughing. 

She can breathe this time-- just-- and it doesn’t last for nearly as long, but it  _ hurts _ more. 

Hacking, she drops to her knees before the mirror, spitting embers everywhere, praying for it to stop. It feels as if something is building up, almost  _ rising _

She suddenly remembers something Callis had told her.

Keeping one hand on her searing chest, she tugs at her collar with the other, fumbling with the diamond fastening--

The thread keeping it on snaps, it clatters to the floor, and Agatha yanks her collar down.

She recoils. 

Callis was right. 

Her  _ windpipe _ is glowing. 

She’s so surprised that she stops coughing. 

Shocked, Agatha sags against the mirror, wiping soot from her lips, and touches shaking fingers to her neck. She’s never seen this before, and, frankly, it looks terrifying. She can see almost  _ everything  _ in her neck-- her pale skin looks almost translucent, and she could trace every vein if she so desired. Lifting her veil slightly, she can see that it doesn’t quite reach her face, stopping just at her jawline, but it’s there all right--

Agatha horrifies herself by bursting into tears. 

Immediately, she clamps her hand over her mouth, aware she’s already made far too much noise, but she can’t actually  _ stop  _ herself. 

Damned Vanessa. Damned wedding. Damned fire magic, to hell with it all--

She scrabbles for the fastening of her collar, but it’s well and truly broken, and her neck, complete with scary glowing effect, is still exposed, even with the veil halfway across it. 

Swiping shakily at tears she knows full well have already evaporated, Agatha wobbles unsteadily to her feet and abandons all thoughts of the library. 

She wants her mum. Her  _ real  _ mum. 

Holding her collar closed across her neck, Agatha leaves, feeling more out of place than ever.

Outside, the first snow of the year starts to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agatha: Two plus two is four, minus one that's three, quick maths  
> Tedros: THREEEEeEE Is A MAgiC,,,, NUMBAHHH  
> okay sorry but please get it together bruv  
> I guess he's got no reason to suspect dsjkbkj but still


	12. the coronation incident

Tedros wakes from a restless sleep with the overwhelming feeling that something is wrong. A noise, just on the edge of his consciousness, has woken him. He can’t place it, but he doesn’t think it was good, not with the way his heart is pounding and his body temperature is plunging so rapidly. It sounded like something sliding, almost like metal and a fabric, similar to what he hears in weapons training--

It sounded like the rasp of steel on leather.

Tedros’s eyes shoot open just in time to see the knife plunging towards his chest.

He doesn’t scream. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t.

Instead, he does something that, had anyone else done it, would have been indescribably stupid.

He bolts upwards, snaps his hands up, and grabs the knife by the blade.

There’s a horrible screeching, cracking sound, and Tedros  _ squeezes,  _ feeling his skin breaking--

With a crash, the knife, hilt and all, shatters into a spray of ice. His attacker recoils with a curse as tiny fragments of ice skitter everywhere

Tedros whirls to face his would-be-assassin, raising bloody hands, palms outwards.

“Don’t think that because you’ve sliced up my hands I can’t kill you.” he snarls, flexing his fingers, letting his body temperature plunge. A frozen droplet of blood slips from his palm and clatters to the floor. The bloody gashes on his hands have iced over, his injuries ceasing to bleed. 

The hooded man gazes down at the quickly melting-fragments everywhere. There’s a quiet crackling sound, and without looking, Tedros knows there’s ice crawling up the walls and up his bedpost-- and up his face.

Then, slowly, his assailant looks up.

Tedros recognises the red eyes glaring at him a second before he speaks.

“I won’t lie, I thought you weren’t in control of your powers, at the moment.” says Ravan coldly, pulling down his hood. “But I don’t doubt you can kill me, little Snow King.”

Tedros stares at him, slowly lowering his hands.

“Someone let you in?”

“Climbed.”

“I see.” 

They remain still for a moment, at an impasse. Ravan doesn’t seem to be armed with anything else, and Tedros will not attack him.

He slowly lets out a breath. It doesn’t steam, although Ravan’s does. 

“If this is about the coronation incident--”

“Of  _ course  _ it’s about the coronation.” sneers Ravan. “Just because I’m the only one out of your court who knows you’re a danger to everyone around you, doesn’t mean you’re any safer. Don’t suppose you’ve told your lovely bride about your little…  _ talent, _ have you?”

Tedros clenches his teeth and remains silent.

“More people at risk.” Ravan shakes his head. “I know you don’t like Hort, but I would have thought you’d have  _ some  _ care for your future wife--”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” snarls Tedros. “I didn’t attack Hort on purpose! I lost control by accident, because Weatherford had been plying me with those damned  _ drinks  _ all day! I didn’t mean to do  _ any  _ magic, let alone expel icicles, and I  _ certainly _ didn’t mean to put them in the wall by his head. You know what ivy does--”

“And so do you. So why are you  _ taking it?”  _ hisses Ravan.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“If you convinced them it made you  _ more  _ dangerous, rather than less, they might reconsider.”

“They’re operating on old research, they won’t listen when I tell them that I’m too powerful for it to work properly.” says Tedros grimly, slowly shifting to sit on the edge of his bed. “As far as they’re concerned, it stops me doing lots of tiny things that might blow my cover, and any big mistakes are my fault.”

“They  _ are.” _

“I used to just get  _ mad  _ when I got mad, not risk killing people!”

The ice on the wall shudders and rises. Tedros looks at it for a minute, then turns helplessly back to Ravan.

“You know long-term exposure to poison ivy only agitates strong magic. Any time I feel any kind of powerful emotion, my magic starts railing against the ivy, and if I manage to suppress it, it makes me ill. If I don’t… it explodes, and I can’t control it. Hence Hort.”

“You could have killed him.”

“But I  _ didn’t!”  _ Tedros barks. “There wasn’t a scratch on him, and he got a massive settlement and a Lordship for his trouble!” he sits forward. “I know you care about him, and I’m sorry it happened, but--”

“We’re not here to talk about me and Hort.” snaps Ravan. “We’re here to talk about your stupid uncontrollable magic.”

Tedros clenches his teeth. 

“I’ll try to stop taking the ivy. They might not let me, and I’ll probably have withdrawal symptoms, but I’ll try.”

"They _ might not let you?  _ You’re the King!”

“You know what they’re like.” says Tedros coldly. 

Ravan merely grunts. 

“Glad that nearly being stabbed in the chest has brought your sense back to you.” 

“Was my old seneschal  _ really _ about to try and kill me?”

“Camelot would be far safer without you.” says Ravan blankly. Tedros’s half-smile drops.

Hurt and rather shaken, he looks away.

“Right. Well. There’s no one else who could take the throne, so--”

“ _ Anyone  _ would be better than you.”

“...sure.”

Tedros stands and goes to the window, clasping his hands to stop them shaking. Turning his back on Ravan probably isn’t the best idea, but he doesn’t appear to have any more weapons, so…

Tedros wipes at the foggy window, but only succeeds in spreading frost across the windowpane. He pulls his hand away and turns unhappily back to Ravan, who’s watching him narrowly.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Get someone to teach you to control it.” 

“I will.” says Tedros, but even as he says it, he’s no idea who he could possibly find that would be able to help him. 

Ravan, as the son of Thicket Tumble’s Camelot ambassador, had practically been raised with Tedros. He knows full well that Camelot’s court has spent seventeen years forcing Tedros to oppress his magic, rather than actually learning to use it. They fear backlash from the kingdom, or Tedros being kidnapped by other monarchs to use as a weapon, or even assassinated for fears he would be too powerful in battle. The poison ivy had been a last-minute decision before he was crowned-- the first one Weatherford had made as his head advisor. 

* * *

_ “They’re making me feel ill.” Tedros whines, holding the goblet away from him. One of his father’s advisors-- Tedros still hasn’t learned all their names-- snorts.  _

_ “Well, you’ve been drinking them every few hours for the past week, and you haven’t been sick yet.” _

_ “He fainted on Thursday.” says Ravan, lurking in the corner in his seneschal uniform. Everyone ignores him. It’s not surprising-- he’s only two years older than Tedros. Most think he’s young and foolish. Arthur knew better. _

_ But Arthur is dead, and Tedros is King.  _

_ Or he will be, in about fifteen minutes. _

_ “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.” Tedros puts the goblet down on the side table. “That book said it didn’t react well to stronger magic--” _

_ “Don’t flatter yourself.” growls another lord. “You’re not as powerful as all that.” _

_ “I don’t feel in control.” says Tedros anxiously, clutching his gloves. “I shouldn’t keep drinking it.” _

_ “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s more in control than ever.” says the first advisor. “The maids say your room has been at normal temperature all week, not freezing like usual.” _

_ “But this morning--” _

_ “It’s six nights against one, boy, don’t be ridiculous.” _

_ “But sir--!” _

_ “Tedros.” Weatherford says quietly from where he’s sat at the table. “There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of people out there. You cannot put a single one at risk. Please finish the ivy.” _

_ This doesn’t make Tedros feel better. In fact, he feels worse.  _

_ “Ten minutes, your highness.” says one of the pages at the door, staring right ahead as if he’s not impacted by the chaos in the room.  _

_ Frightened, Tedros turns to where Ravan, Beatrix and Dot are standing together in the corner. He can feel panic truly starting to settle in his chest.  _

_ “You guys know that it’s not good--” _

_ “FOR GOD’S SAKE, LAD!” roars one of the men, finally angry. “DRINK IT!” _ _   
_ _ “I can’t!” cries Tedros. In response, the man gets up in his face. _

_ “DO IT!” _

_ Anger flares, mingling with the fear and resentment already in his chest.  _

_ “DON’T GIVE ME COMMANDS!” Tedros shouts _

_ Another of the men seizes him by the scruff of the neck and drags him towards the table. _

_ “Just because Daddy’s dead, and you’re about to get the crown on your pretty head, doesn’t mean you’re anything more than a spoiled prince to us--” _

_ “Let him go, please.” requests Weatherford. “You wouldn’t treat his father this way.” _

_ “His father wasn’t an arrogant sixteen year old.” says the man, but he does drop him. Tedros crashes into the table, bashing his shin and elbow on the leg, and hunches over it, glaring.  _

_ “Drink it, please, Tedros.” says Weatherford tiredly. “This has gone on for too long. All the evidence suggests it’s safer this way, and if you’re going to be irresponsible based on a hunch about your own power, are you really ready to be King?” _

_ Tedros stares at him, humiliated, frightened and embarrassed in equal measure-- _

_ “His father would be ashamed.” whispers someone behind him. _

_ “STOP TALKING ABOUT MY FATHER!” _

_ Tedros spins, furious-- _

_ There’s a horrible shriek, and everyone is knocked back by the force of the magic that explodes from Tedros’s hands.  _

_ His gloved hands.  _

_ Horrified, Tedros bolts up-- _

_ To find the page by the door cowering in the corner, icicles impaled in the wall around him and the man who’d made the comment. _

_ Immediately, Tedros backs away, hands clasped against his chest. _

_ “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-- I didn’t even mean to do anything, I didn’t try to--” _

_ “You were right.” says Beatrix softly to him. No one listens to her. Everyone is staring with horror at Tedros, including Ravan. _

_ Tears welling, Tedros looks helplessly between them all, hoping for a sympathetic face. Only Beatrix and Dot seem to be willing, and even they look frightened.  _

_ “I-I said I thought it was making it worse--” _

_ But now no one is listening, rushing towards the page and the advisor. Neither seem to be harmed, though both have ripped clothes. Tedros thinks he recognises the page as the one Ravan is always hanging around with, and starts forwards-- _

_ Weatherford grabs his chin, forces his mouth open, and pours the rest of the ivy down his throat. _

* * *

“You left before I was even crowned.” says Tedros.

“I was angry.” says Ravan. “I'm still angry.”

“You know I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Doesn’t make you any less dangerous. Once you were crowned, you could have forced them to stop giving you that stuff.”

Tedros frowns.

“After Hort, I thought it was the responsible thing to do. I wondered if they were right.”

“Even though you  _ knew _ they weren’t?”

Tedros is silent.

“If you weren’t drinking it now, you could have broken that knife without slashing your hands right up.” says Ravan. Tedros looks down at his bloody hands. They’re  _ really _ starting to hurt, now, and he feels a little lightheaded.

“I know. But it will take months to come out of my system completely.” he mumbles. 

“Would you rather do something little and stupid at your wedding, like making a couple of ice roses, or would you rather  _ kill _ someone because you’re nervous and your magic is fighting the ivy?”

“...I see your point.” Tedros pauses. “Do something for me?”

“Possibly. What is it?”

“My court will notice if I’m trying to learn to control it, and they won’t like it. I’d like to give them something else to worry about.”

Ravan’s red eyes narrow. 

“You want me to distract them?”

“If you can. Cause security breaches and things like that.”

“Surely they’ll tighten the guard on you.”

“The fact that you got in here so easily must tell you that they don’t bother with guards for me, very often. What use is it, if I’m more dangerous than the guards?”

“...I suppose that’s true.” Ravan looks down his nose at him. “Well. I guess that’s the least I can do, isn’t it?”

“You can try to see Hort.” Tedros wheedles. Ravan sneers at him.

“Hort’s too busy with your fiancé’s sister.”

“Sophie’s not interested in him, and frankly I don’t think he’s  _ really _ interested in her, either.” dismisses Tedros. 

“...hmm.” Ravan turns away from him. “Well, I suppose, if in the long run it will make everything safer… I’ll do it.”

Tedros sags, relieved.

“Thank you-- what are you doing?”

For Ravan has turned, and he’s holding another knife. 

“Well,” he says. “If you’re meant to have fended me off when I attacked you… there needs to be more sign of a struggle.”

“Oh.” Tedros looks over at the door. “Yeah, I suppose--”

Ravan grabs Tedros by the hair and smashes his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t say I’d be nice about it.” he hisses.

He drops Tedros, gasping, to the floor and kicks him in the stomach, hard enough to crack a rib.

“I’ll leave your face.” he says. “For your wife’s sake.”

He dangles the knife over him, blade down.

“Catch.” he says.

Then he drops it and leaps out of the window. 

* * *

Agatha wakes up to people shaking her, bells ringing, and lots of screaming.

Agatha lights her hand on fire and whirls--

“ _ Who-- _ oh, it’s you.”

Hester glares at her, face lit in flickering orange light by the flame. Anadil is behind her, Sophie is hovering nearby, and Callis is sitting at the end of her bed. 

“Be careful, woman, you nearly set me on fire!”

“What’s happening?” demands Agatha.

“Assassination attempt on Tedros.” says Callis. “We’re not to leave.”

“ _ What?” _

“He’s alive.” says Callis quickly. “From what they can tell-- which is not a lot, he’s a bit concussed and isn’t making sense-- someone tried to stab him in the chest, and he grabbed the knife, so it’s completely torn up his hands. Cracked rib and a huge bruise on his temple. He’ll be fine, though.”

Agatha stares at her, bewildered at how panicked she feels.

“... _ when  _ was this?”

“About an hour ago. They’re concerned whoever it was might try to target you, next.”

“ _ They,”  _ snorts Sophie. “You mean  _ Tedros.”  _

“Well, yes, it was Tedros who was worried about that.” admitted Callis. “Whilst half-conscious.”

“Nice he had the sense to worry about his dowry.” says Agatha. 

No one laughs. 

“I went to see what was happening, and was given the grisly job of binding his hands.” she says, and holds up her own bloody hands. 

There’s an awkward pause. 

“It’s odd.” muses Anadil. “They obviously haven’t put enough guards on for him.”

“Maybe they  _ want _ to bump him off.” snorts Hester. “The guy escaped, and we’ve been watching them do a terrible job combing the grounds for him, so maybe it’s some kind of conspiracy--”

“He’s the only heir.” interrupts Callis slowly. “If they were going to kill him, they’d wait until he had children at the very least, to avoid a succession crisis.”

Everyone looks at Agatha.

“Ew.” says Agatha.

“Didn’t you tell Vanessa--” begins Hester.

“Yes, I used it as a bargaining chip with my mother.” grumbles Agatha. “ _ Obviously  _ it was just that--”

More screaming erupts from the distance. 

“Said mother has probably just arrived on scene.” says Callis.

“I love that she’s more upset than me.” groans Agatha.

“Try and squeeze out a few tears tomorrow, yeah?” grins Hester. 

“What’s the use?” snorts Agatha. “I just need to  _ sound  _ upset.”

“Or... you could express genuine concern, like you just did.” says Sophie.

“Or that.” admits Agatha. She frowns. “He’s just a kid. He was telling me about how it’s nearly his birthday, earlier.”

“Good to know they’re doing such a good job of protecting him, then.” says Callis.

Even Hester doesn’t seem to be able to find something snide to say to that.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

“Aggie, could you relight the fire?” asks Sophie. “It’s getting cold.”

“Yeah, the snow’s really coming down now.” murmurs Agatha, sliding off her bed and finding a couple of logs. 

“Maybe the assassin will freeze.” offers Sophie hopefully.

Agatha glances out of the window. 

“Maybe.” she says.

She can’t help but wonder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH OH LOL


	13. eighteen

“ _No wandering off, no deviating from chosen paths, do not go anywhere without first finding a guard to escort you, do not mention anything about the incident in front of any townspeople, if his majesty begins to look unwell, immediately inform Weatherford and retreat--”_ Agatha stops reading and turns to frown at Callis. “This is like being at home.”

Callis shrugs, easily keeping pace with her as she marches along the corridor leading to the Entrance Hall.

“It’s to be expected. It’s a wonder they’re letting this visit go ahead.”

“Beatrix said Tedros convinced them it would stop people panicking about him.” says Hester, sauntering alongside them. “For once, he has a point.”

“What _is_ it _?”_ demands Agatha, flipping the paper over to see if there’s more information on the back. “Where are we going?”

“To some orphanage in the city. A charitable visit for his birthday.” snorts Hester. “They were trying to keep it confidential, so that no one would be able to follow us and have a second go at putting him six feet under.”

“Not that it worked the first time.” mutters Agatha. Over the past three days she’s gotten the impression Tedros is more sulky than seriously injured, from what Dot and Beatrix have said when they come to see her.

“I thought the assassin had disappeared?” says Callis. 

“He has, but the palace guard thinks he can’t have gotten far.” says Hester. “No one saw anyone of his description in the surrounding towns, so they’re suspicious he’s still hiding out in the grounds somewhere.”

“There was a description?” asks Agatha.

“His majesty provided some half-baked description of his assailant, yes.” says Hester dryly. “Not much to go on. His court was too worried about his concussion to care, though.”

Callis snorts.  
“I saw him twenty minutes after it happened, he was barely dizzy. _Concussion.”_ she lowers her voice. “Convenient excuse, though.”

The three of them exchange glances. Agatha had told Hester, Anadil and Callis of her suspicions, and they had come to the conclusion that Tedros’s foggy memory of the attack was a little _too_ convenient. Still, no one had been able to provide any extra information that could be a clue as to his powers, and Agatha was still doubtful about what she’d felt at the coronation. 

Callis starts to say something else, but is cut off as they turn into the Entrance Hall and encounter Vanessa and Sophie, both swathed in huge, furry winter cloaks. It’s snowed constantly over the past three days, briskly banishing the sun they’d had in late October and apparently making the huge castle a thousand times colder. Agatha has spent a lot of time wandering around barefoot, unbothered by the temperature change she can’t feel, whilst Callis stares at her, aghast, from under a pile of blankets. 

“Ah, Agatha.” Vanessa approaches them briskly. “Good, you’ve brought Captain Baumann. Now, I need you to be _extra_ careful today, you understand? Don’t leave the King’s side unless absolutely necessary, and remain on your guard. Here, take this, it’s cold--”

She bundles a fur cloak into Agatha’s arms, despite knowing full well Agatha doesn’t need one, and shoots a wary glance at the guards on station near the doors. 

Agatha sighs and puts it on. Appearances and all that. Besides, she’s too tired to argue with her mother. It seems that Tedros’s near-death experience has reminded her that they’re both rather valuable to her own purposes. Whether she means those instructions to keep Agatha safe or to keep _Tedros_ safe, though, is hard to tell. If what they suspect about Tedros is true, then it seems either could be the case. 

But did _Vanessa_ know?

As Vanessa bustles off to help Sophie with her gloves, Agatha turns back to Callis.

“Do you think _she_ knows?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.” murmurs Callis. “She spends so much time with Weatherford, it seems likely. And it’s _equally_ likely that she wouldn’t want to tell you.”

“Rich, young, influential _and_ magically inclined? She’d blow a gasket just thinking about all the nice things I’ll have.” scoffs Agatha. “Well, it might not be as fabulous as she thinks, depending on how powerful he is and what his magic is.”

“What if it’s the same as yours?” muses Hester.

“Lucky me.” says Agatha dryly. “I don’t have to worry about burning his pretty face.”

“What if it’s _water?”_

Agatha and Hester both turn to stare at Callis.

“Just a thought.” her nursemaid says. “His colouring is very light.”

Agatha can tell from the tight expression on her face and how she’s twisting her sleeve, that it’s not just a thought. It’s a _worry._ It’s something Callis has been sitting on for a while. Nothing would be worse than that, for Agatha. Directly clashing powers.

And yet, there’s nothing there that should _really_ suggest it to Callis, who’s usually very practical...

“You’re not telling me something.” Agatha says.

Callis clasps her hands tightly.

“I don’t know anything for sure.”

“ _Callis--”_

“When I went in, after the attack, the floor was wet underfoot.” she says reluctantly. “I think it was probably from cleaning the blood off the floor, but there was a lot of it. An excessive amount. I had to wonder…”

Agatha lets her trail off, thinking. She doesn’t even know what would _happen_ if that was the truth. But from what she’s read, there’s no real change in bodily temperature for water spirits. She’d probably hurt him, and she can’t imagine he’d be much better for her.

In fact, he might be much worse.

“Mother must think herself very clever,” she says grimly. “If that’s the case--”

“Agatha, take this seriously,” murmurs Callis. “He could be _directly_ dangerous to you. This could be a disaster. Have you ever--”

“I’ve never felt threatened, or unwell, around him.” says Agatha, anticipating the question. “It’s just that faint magic presence. Besides, his magic is restricted by the ivy. There’s nothing to be threatened _by.”_

Callis still looks unsure. Agatha grabs her hand and squeezes it briefly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him today. I’ll tell you if anything’s changed.”

“Nice timing,” says Hester thinly. “He’s just turned up.”

Suddenly apprehensive, Agatha turns to look the way Hester is looking. She’s not seen Tedros since they left the library three days ago, and in light of all the recent revelations, she’s not sure she wants to. 

* * *

But there he is, tottering towards them in the centre of a cluster of guards, all keeping cautious pace with him. His face is pristine as ever, apart from a slight suggestion of a purple bruise on his right temple, where makeup hasn’t quite covered it. He walks stiffly, presumably thanks to his damaged ribs, and his bandaged hands are held gingerly away from his sides like a penguin. 

A painful pang of guilt jabs Agatha in the stomach. They’ve spent the past three days talking about Tedros like he’s some sort of ambiguous enemy, throwing out all sorts of suggestions and theories about him, and now she feels terribly ashamed. He’s not _hostile._ He’s just some guileless kid who was nearly murdered in his sleep but still, for some godforsaken reason, wants to go and visit the orphanage in the city. On his _birthday._

She watches him approach, noticing how tense he looks. Weatherford is whispering furiously, walking at his left shoulder, and the guards are crowding him almost aggressively, hands all tight on the hilts of their swords. Only Chaddick, directly behind Tedros, looks worried-- the rest seem threatening. If Agatha didn’t know better, she’d think he looked more like a prisoner than a King. 

When he reaches them, though, he makes a very brave, very unconvincing attempt at cheer. He smiles, and spreads his arms as if to to present himself. 

“Not dead.” he says good-naturedly. 

But Agatha hears his voice shake slightly on the last syllable. 

So, instead of curtseying like she normally does, she does something she’s not sure she’s technically allowed to do, and is probably very stupid. 

She takes a couple of steps forward and hugs him carefully, trying to avoid hurting his ribs. 

“Not dead.” she agrees. “Happy birthday.”

She immediately notices Vanessa scowl, and she hears Hester sigh, but she finds it hard to care, because Tedros’s faux-cheer is immediately replaced with something much more genuine.

“You remembered!” he says excitedly.

Agatha, pulls back, and is immediately smacked with the full force of his genuine smile. She blinks, not certain if she’s ever had it directed at her before.

“Er--I, yeah, of course.”

“We’re the same age now!” says Tedros brightly, offering her his arm as Weatherford directs everyone towards the doors. 

“Like I said, don’t get too comfortable about it.”

“I’ve got a _few_ months to enjoy it. The wedding’s in February. When’s your birthday, April?”

“Yeah, April.” says Agatha distractedly, watching Hester elbow one of Tedros’s guards out of the way so that she can flank them. “I, um, didn’t get you anything--”

Tedros snorts. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ve all been confined to barracks because I grabbed a knife, how could you have?”

“So you _did_ grab the knife?” Agatha squints at his bandaged hands. “How deep are those cuts?”

“Pretty deep,” says Tedros, with an unnecessary amount of pride. “It was _so_ grisly, there was all this shredded tissue and blood, I’ll show you later--”

It seems the injury part is not the part he’s concerned about. Typical. He’s still a teenage boy. But before Agatha can comment on that, Weatherford clears his throat from behind them. Tedros winces.

“Oh. Perhaps it’s not proper to show a lady. Or to… talk to you about it. Like that.”

“Maybe not in front of these kids we’re going to see,” says Agatha easily. “But I deposited a dead frog in Callis’s lap multiple times when I was young, so my constitution isn’t particularly fragile.” She lowers her voice. “Besides, I’ve eaten all _sorts_ of horrible stuff at fancy dinners, on dares from Hester.”

“Oh, _no_ , me too...”

“They stuffed this pheasant with three other meats, _plus_ the offal, it had all this weird fancy sauce on it and the combination was _hell._ I nearly passed out. Course, no one noticed because I had my veil on, but Hester knew and she was just laughing at me for _ages._ ”

“Funny,” says Chaddick, who’s been blatantly eavesdropping. “We do that, too. Pretty sure the worst thing I ever dared Tedros to try was the candied eel with spicy sauce, wasn’t it?”

“Closest I’ve ever come to throwing up at a formal event.” sighs Tedros.

Weatherford and Vanessa, walking nearby, look disapproving of the teenage silliness, but don’t move to intervene. Still, Agatha doesn’t doubt they’ll all be interrupted later. 

They’ve reached the carriage by now, and Agatha allows Tedros to help her up the step, expecting another flash of that odd magic-- but there’s nothing, disappointingly. Perhaps, like her, he needs to be more agitated. When she’d first noticed it, he _had_ just been in danger of getting minorly to moderately injured by Chaddick, at the tournament. 

Even though she’s sure it’s putting pressure on his wounds, he doesn’t flinch-- just smiles and follows her. Callis is behind him, and Agatha can see her watching him carefully. It seems she’s not abandoned her misgivings as quickly as Agatha has, and it makes Agatha a little nervous to think she might be being taken in too easily by Tedros. 

But then Tedros grabs her arm to point out some random bakery and she finds it hard to believe he would ever do anything nefarious.

On purpose, anyway. 

* * *

Agatha had been too nervous to pay much attention to the city when she’d first arrived, so now she finds that the ride through Camelot allows her to appreciate it more. Her initial observations, that it was bigger than Gavaldon, were correct-- but it’s also much busier. Buildings squished into every available space, with people sprinting across the street and haggling at market stalls, riders and carts constantly rumbling past them. Even in this weather, with a thick layer of snow on the ground, people are everywhere. Their carriage, along with the armed escort on horseback, draw a lot of attention, and people stop to stare and point. Agatha and Tedros, both on the side further away from the window, sit awkwardly and try to avoid staring back. For once, Agatha is glad for her veil. 

Tedros is staring unhappily at his hands, and Agatha finds it hard not to follow his gaze. It feels wrong to see him without gloves, though the vast majority of his hands are covered by bandages. His nails are short, almost as if he bites them-- an imperfection, finally!-- but they’re painted blue, to hide it. 

Agatha carefully picks up one of his hands for a closer look--

And gets such a strong hit of magic she nearly recoils. 

She knows immediately that he’s stopped taking the ivy. 

She doesn’t know why he would have. It must have something to do with the assassination attempt. But she knows that there’s no way that magic is restricted anymore. It’s sharper, fuller, more obvious.

More _powerful._

She looks up and meets his wide, slightly panicked, gaze. 

It’s only them, Callis, Hester and Chaddick in this carriage. She could just ask him, right now. She could tell him, and he’d tell her, no problem--

But she knows that’s more trouble than it’s worth. 

So, instead, she says;

“These are pretty. Does Beatrix do them?”

“Yeah.” says Tedros weakly. He clears his throat. “Yeah, usually you can’t see them, but she likes to do mine when she does her own, and I like them, so…”

“Perhaps I’ll get her to do mine.” says Agatha, letting Tedros take his hand back. He looks relieved that’s all she’s said.

“Yeah, maybe you should.”

“You should get red,” says Callis. 

Agatha is inches away from kicking her before she realises it’s far too obvious. She resigns herself to glaring, even though Callis can’t see.

“With _my_ complexion? Come on, Callis.”

Callis smiles indulgently.

“That’s why it’s fun, dear.”

“You are quite pale.” Tedros leans over and runs his thumb down the side of her neck-- her only exposed skin-- thoughtfully. “Darker colours suit your skin tone better.”

Agatha opens her mouth to respond but finds she has nothing to say. 

Hester and Chaddick are having a quiet, sniggering conversation that is clearly at their expense. 

Thankfully, before Agatha can say something humiliating and nonsensical, Tedros pulls back quickly. 

“But I suppose red would be good.” he agrees awkwardly. “For fun.”

“Yeah.” says Agatha faintly.

Callis turns a laugh into a cough. 

* * *

As it turns out, Tedros is rather good with children. 

While he might be _by the_ _Grace of God, of Camelot, Albion and the Dominions beyond the Seas, King,_ he is quite happy to sit in the snow with toddlers.

For the first few hours, Agatha stands awkwardly to the side, accepting congratulations, chocolates and wobbly curtsies from little kids and making small talk with the people who work at the orphanage. It’s not _so_ bad, she supposes, even if she _is_ fielding both embarrassing questions and suspicious glances from the older kids. Still, she finds herself turning to Chaddick whilst Tedros happily allows himself to be pelted with snowballs and lugs huge chunks of snow about, the perfect manual labourer for building a snowman. 

“This feels very improper. I’m surprised Weatherford lets this happen.”

“He’s not happy about it,” grins Chaddick. “But this is the perfect PR opportunity-- it proves Tedros is fine, boosts morale and makes everyone go _wow, he’s spending his birthday with a bunch of snotty kids, how altruistic._ Course, he’d much rather make a snowman than do a boat parade anyway, and Weatherford _knows_ it looks good, so… he lets it happen.”

“Huh.” Agatha considers this. “That would never work at home.”

“Yeah, I thought it wouldn’t. Hester’s been airing all sorts of dirty laundry about your mother in the knight’s mess hall,” shrugs Chaddick. Then his face drops a little. “She’s kind of terrible to all of you, isn’t she?”

“Honestly, I’m just sorry she’s been inflicted on all of _you_.” mutters Agatha, watching Vanessa swoop around, twittering away to anyone who will listen. Sophie is talking to Callis, clearly bored. 

Chaddick looks at her for a minute, frowning.

“When Tedros raised the alarm, I was one of the first onto the scene.” he says quietly. “I was in bed, but Yara came and shook me awake. I got there and saw all the blood and all the bells were ringing and… you know, there was chaos-- and I just started crying. I felt so bad that I wasn’t there to stop it, even though there wasn’t anything I could have done, and I wasn’t even on duty. I’ve been friends with him since we were six. But your mother arrived later, whilst everyone else was panicking, and it was _chaos--_ she burst in shrieking, probably just to make it look like she was worried, then started ordering people around. I’d been pushed away by all the medics and was just sitting on the floor, and she looked at me and demanded to know why I wasn’t searching the grounds, and why I was _just_ _sitting there panicking,_ _was I a guard or not_?” He glances over at Vanessa. “I told her that Tedros had requested that I stay, and he was my friend, of course I was panicking, and she just looked at me like she couldn’t understand it at all. And I felt really bad for you.”

He pauses. 

“I’m sure this is _proper_ weird, given we’ve only spoken like three or four times and you’re gonna be Queen, but--”

“It’s fine.” says Agatha quickly. “It’s okay, she didn’t take much of an active role in my upbringing.”

“Problem in itself though, isn’t it?” 

Agatha looks at Chaddick, bewildered.

“You’re very wise.”

Chaddick grins. 

“Despite the example Tedros might set, you _can_ have both brains and brawn.”

Agatha laughs. 

“Pretty sure only _I’m_ allowed to insult him like that.”

“Not so, my lady!” tuts Chadduck. “I was the first person to make fun of him after he’d been crowned and I will go on doing so _long_ after you’ve fallen in love with him and decided you don’t want to be mean anymore.”

“Um, what?”

“Oh, hello, he’s here.”

Agatha whips around to find Tedros advancing rapidly towards them, carrying a little girl.

“Hi, can you just hold her a second? She’s cold-- here, sweetheart, go and see Princess Agatha, that’s it--”

Tedros deposits a snuffling toddler in Agatha’s arms, smiles, and goes running back off through the snow again. Agatha and the child blink at one another, the toddler just as surprised to suddenly be in Agatha’s company as Agatha is to be in hers. 

_She’s cold._ Agatha nearly snorts at the convenience of it all. Hand the cold child to the fire spirit. Thankfully, she’s wearing enough layers to mean her body temperature is mostly concealed, but she’s still warmer than everyone else out here.

The girl seems to consider this adequate, and makes a swipe for Agatha’s veil, interested. She yanks at it and Agatha tenses-- if anyone looks now, they will be able to get a more than sufficient glimpse of her profile. 

And her scar is on that side. 

“Oh, um, don’t do that--” Agatha carefully pries chubby toddler fingers from the fabric. “That’s not a very… a very good idea...”

She flattens her veil back down frantically and glances at Chaddick, but he’s politely not looking at her, instead making snowballs for a little boy nearby. She has no way of telling if he saw.

Heart pounding, she turns towards the building, hoping she can make herself useful inside before the girl tries it again--

Thankfully, it’s started snowing again, and suddenly snowflakes are a lot better to grab with toddler hands than veils.

* * *

After another few hours, three snowmen, and Agatha being of some actual use in the kitchen (subtly making the kitchen fires burn higher whilst helping cook), she walks with Chaddick and Tedros on the way back to the carriage. They’d both insisted on accompanying her-- Chaddick to wind Tedros up, and Tedros because he was worried it was slippery, even though Agatha is wearing far more practical shoes than everyone else. 

“That was fun.” Tedros says brightly. “Did you see the snowmen we made?”

“I was surprised they didn’t fall over.” says Agatha. “They were very charming, but very… lopsided.”

“Just my impressive snowman-making abilities.” says Tedros. 

“Sure.” snorts Chaddick. “That’s what it was.”

“What would _you_ call it?”

“Luck? Divine intervention? Magic?”

“ _Watch it,_ master Knight.”

“Don’t think I will, your highness.”

Agatha grins, listening to them bicker-- 

Then Vanessa crosses their path and all three of their smiles fade. 

“Well!” she takes Agatha’s arm and yanks her out in front of Tedros and Chaddick. “Wasn’t that sweet?”

Agatha isn’t convinced _sweet_ is the right word, but she makes a vague noise of agreement. Vanessa looks down at her.

“That girl you held was very adorable. Just… don’t be _reckless,_ next time.” 

Agatha stops and yanks her arm out of her grip. So she’d seen. Of course she had. 

“I’ll be sure to be _very_ careful. Next time. And all the time until the wedding.”

Vanessa glances at Tedros and Chaddick, and smiles tightly.

“Of course, dear.” she turns and marches off, under a tunnel of trees that lead to where they left the carriages. 

“After which,” Agatha mutters under her breath, “You’ll be gone.”

Chaddick laughs, but Tedros doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything. 

Agatha turns to look at him--

There’s a cracking sound and a shriek from in front of them, and Agatha spins to see Vanessa suddenly covered in snow, and a branch above her suddenly rather lacking of it. Weatherford and a few knights go rushing over to help her. Agatha can hear Hester and Callis laughing behind her, and has to admit that she’s very tempted, herself--

“Wow.” grins Chaddick. “Convenient.”

“Guess there’s too much snow on the branches.” says Tedros coolly. He’s smirking a little, himself. “Come on, if we get through here fast enough we can probably avoid it happening to us, too.”

(It happens to Chaddick, which, this time, _does_ make Agatha laugh.)

* * *

There’s a definite sense of relief when they get back to the palace in one piece, and with no incident. Tedros doesn’t acknowledge it, if he notices it-- he’s too busy looking out at the snow. 

“We could go skating?” he offers, peering out at the lake only just visible in the dusk. Agatha frowns. 

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No!” Tedros says emphatically. “I’ll make sure it’s safe. It’s really fun.”

“Only because you never fall over.” scoffs Chaddick. “Having a purple backside is not _fun_ . Besides, Weatherford is _definitely_ not going to let you do that, now.”

Tedros’s face drops.

“Oh. I didn’t think of that.” he frowns. 

“I’m sure we can think of something else to do.” says Agatha hastily, as the carriage stops. “It’ll probably snow again.”

“It will.” says Tedros vaguely, hopping out of the carriage and into a puddle of melted snow. holding out his hand to help her down. He looks up and smiles. “Come on, Silkima made me a birthday cake and it’s way too big to eat on my own, we’ll have supper!”

“Sounds good.” Agatha internally grimaces at the puddle, but accepts his hand, and stands to the side to wait for Callis. It’s snowing lightly again, but it won’t settle here, it’s too wet--

Except it’s not.

“Careful,” says Tedros to Callis, helping her down. “It’s icy.”

But it hadn’t been. She’d _watched_ him jump into a puddle. She’d heard it splash. But now he was standing on a patch of ice, and so was she. It couldn’t have frozen that quickly, it just couldn’t have, and _definitely_ not with she and Tedros stood on it--

Tedros stood on it.

Realisation shoots through her.

The water on the floor. The snowman. The spike of cold. The snowfall on Vanessa. _I’ll make sure it’s safe. It will._

Not water.

Not water at all.

Agatha stares unseeingly at Tedros as he and Chaddick start up the path-- Chaddick shuffling and sliding, Tedros walking as easily as if it was solid ground--

“Agatha?” says Callis from behind her. “Agatha, what’s wrong? You’re melting the ice you’re stood on, and I think you’re singeing the furs--”

“Oh my god.” says Agatha softly.

“ _What_? Agatha, tell me--”

“You were nearly right.” Agatha murmurs. “But we’re not fire and water. He didn’t summon water. It was melted ice.”

“You’re not making sense, sweetheart--”

“He’s winter. Snow and ice.” Agatha turns to Callis and grabs her wrists. “Callis, he’s _ice.”_

Callis stares at her, white-faced in the lamplight. 

Then, slowly, they both turn to look after Tedros and Chaddick’s retreating figures, silhouetted by the lights of the castle. 

Only Chaddick’s breath is steaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF PART ONE  
> anywayyy hope you liked this! it has some bits I really like, such as Conspiracy Theorists Agatha and Callis, that bit when Agatha.exe stops working, the bit where Chaddick and Agatha bond and some other stuff! Hope it didn't feel too rushed :/ I wanted to do a "hey, you know these guys? they r still stupid teenagers lol" chapter but also the Agatha Connects Tha Dots chapter so I just kinda smacked em together


	14. a handful of confessions

**PART 2: ICE**

_ Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish one sensation, fire, from the other, frost. -  _ A.S. Byat

* * *

“-- and I completely respect your decision.” says Weatherford calmly.

“Yes, I’m not happy about the iv--” Tedros stumbles to a stop. “...wait, really?”

“Yes.” says Weatherford. “I’ve been expecting this for a while, to be frank.”

“...oh.” Tedros feels rather foolish. All of his carefully constructed arguments are suddenly rendered redundant. “But--”

Weatherford stops before one of the high windows in the corridor they’re in and leans on the windowsill, looking rather weary in the moonlight. Tedros idles a few feet behind him, watching water drip down into a puddle on the floor, from a leak somewhere in the roof. He ought to get that fixed. They’re in the guest wing, it’s not good hosting if there’s a leak--

“I pushed you to continue taking the ivy because I believed that was the safest option.” says Weatherford, cutting into his slightly fevered thoughts. “However, if you think otherwise, I’m happy to support your case to the court.”

Tedros squints at him, resting against an ornate mirror. He knows that with Weatherford’s backing he instantly becomes a hundred times more credible, but this is a very swift turn in opinion. 

“Last year, you said no--”

“Last year it had not rendered you mostly defenceless in the face of an assassination attempt.” says Weatherford tiredly. “You and I both know that, had you been at full control of your magic, you could have broken that dagger without touching it.”

Tedros frowns. Honestly, he doesn’t know  _ what  _ he could have done, but Weatherford is probably right. 

He’d told him some of the story-- he’d admitted to breaking the dagger with magic and panic-icing the walls, but he’d eliminated any mention of recognising Ravan, and had made up a fight to explain his other injuries. Weatherford might be his closest advisor, but Tedros dislikes his newfound closeness with Vanessa, and he prefers to keep Her Royal High-Maintenance-ness out of his business as much as possible. He knows full well that Vanessa is already aware of his…  _ situation,  _ and he’d like it if she didn’t know much more.

He’s not entirely sure he trusts Weatherford with  _ all _ of his information, either. 

“And I want to train.” Tedros says, trying to wrest back control of the situation. “Learn to control it better.” 

“I assumed that was a given, once you stopped suppressing it.” says Weatherford, not turning from the window. “But where will you find a teacher?”

Tedros grimaces, still staring at the water dripping behind Weatherford. He’s not been able to think of anyone who might be much help to him. 

“Well, I thought I could start with--”

“If you’re about to suggest you could just try it yourself, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Tedros scowls.

“Can you think of a better option?”

Weatherford turns back, looking much older than his 23 years. 

“I’ll make a discreet effort at finding people who might have more knowledge.” he says. “I shall ask the court--”

“No!” Tedros says, slightly louder than intended. “No, don’t tell them--”

“That you’re training in secret?” says Weatherford, raising his eyebrows. “They won’t be impressed, if they find out.”

“It’s not their choice.” says Tedros coldly. 

“They represent the interests of the Kingdom.” says Weatherford. “They deserve to know.”

“No they  _ don’t!”  _ sneers Tedros. “They represent interests in fine clothes, wine, and their own personal estates.”

“I have told you before that if you are unhappy with your current courtiers, you are at liberty to replace them.” says Weatherford, infuriatingly patient. 

“With who?” demands Tedros. “The entire palace is seething with them and their allies. There  _ is _ no one else, and you thoroughly disparaged my suggestion at allowing Beatrix and Dot onto my advisory council.”

“Lady Rotunda and Mistress Sherwood are not _advisors,_ Tedros. They are your cosmetic team.”

“And yet they’ve been briefed more extensively about me than most of the court. They give better advice than most of them, too.” mutters Tedros. 

There’s a silence.

“We should get that leak fixed.” Tedros says weakly, gesturing to the water. Weatherford ignores his feeble attempt at changing the subject.

“Just because you  _ like  _ what they tell you, it doesn’t mean that it’s better advice.” he scolds. “I am happy to take your side on this, but you need to think practically. You cannot keep this from the court.”

Tedros grinds his teeth. He knows Weatherford is speaking the truth, but he also knows that if the court are told about this, they will do everything in their power to get in his way. In a way, he can’t really fault them-- he’d be scared, too. But they’re not giving him a chance to show it could be less frightening. 

He purses his lips, rocking on his heels.

“Give me until tomorrow to think about it.” he says, eventually. “I shall come to you with my final decision then.”

He winces internally as he says it. He often catches himself talking like this, and although it’s expected of him, he finds it jarring. He sounds, to himself, like a kid just playing at being King, with big words and proposals he doesn’t really understand. 

“Very well.” says Weatherford, stepping away from the window. “But I would like you to announce it to the court, not just to me. It doesn’t do for a King to deceive his own advisors.”

Tedros can feel a vein jumping in his neck. 

“It works both ways, Weatherford.” he snaps. “I don’t know what you and Vanessa are discussing when you’re shut up together all day, but--”

Weatherford looks unimpressed. 

“You’re really going to accuse me of conspiring against you?”

“I-- not conspiring, but--”

“Surely you’ve wondered why you’ve had to do relatively little wedding prep? The vast majority of it is falling to myself and the Queen. We’re delegating the fun things to yourself and the Princess.”

“I don’t feel that Agatha thinks it’s  _ fun _ .”

“Princess Agatha seems remarkably hard to please.” says Weatherford. His expression softens. “I know you don’t like Queen Vanessa, and I understand why--”

“She’s clearly a terrible mother.” snaps Tedros. “I overheard her talking about Agatha--”

“Whatever you’ve heard, I’m fairly certain I have also been regaled with.” sighs Weatherford. “I do not approve of the way she talks about her daughter, but I know when to keep my mouth shut…  _ and _ , I imagine, if I was magically inclined, I would not use  _ that, _ either.”

He shoots Tedros a reproving look, which Tedros ignores. He can’t  _ prove  _ that snowfall was Tedros, even though they both know full well it was. 

“By the way,” says Weatherford. “A celebratory ball has been proposed to celebrate your engagement, exactly two months before the wedding. Queen Vanessa has suggested you might want to be the one to make the suggestion to Princess Agatha. She thinks she might take it better from you.”

Tedros frowns. He doesn’t think Agatha will take it well from  _ anyone.  _

“I see.” he says curtly. “I suppose I’ll try.”

Weatherford opens his mouth again--

“Until tomorrow.” Tedros says tersely.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to be wandering the corridors alone--”

With a furious snarl, Tedros lashes his hand impatiently towards the water behind them. With an eerie crackling sound, the water droplets freeze mid-fall, before hitting the floor and shattering.

Weatherford stares at the tiny pieces of ice sliding across the floor. 

“Don’t think I am not capable of defending myself.” snaps Tedros. “What happened the other week will not happen again, with Chaddick’s increased guard rotation and me no longer taking the ivy. Leave me.”

Weatherford, clearly sensing Tedros is too ill-tempered to be further lectured, says no more. He bows, turns, and marches off, casting one last look at the wet floor freezing over as he turns the corner and disappears. 

Tedros hesitates. His sudden flare of anger is giving way to a certain embarrassment-- he had meant to demonstrate capability, but it feels more like a laughable, impetuous move, in retrospect. 

Suddenly feeling very foolish, he bad-temperedly reaches up to freeze the leak, presumably from the snow melting on the roof. Hopefully that will last until the morning, so that no servants will slip, and--

Wait. There’s still ice on the floor, isn’t there?

Frowning, he looks down at the frozen puddle of already-fallen water on the floor, and the pieces of ice on the floor, and makes a hopeful gesture with his hands. 

Most of the shards disappear, but the puddle stoutly remains. 

Scowling, Tedros makes a more aggressive gesture. 

Nothing.

It seems it’s harder to get rid of than it is to manifest. He’s certainly not done it as often. He tries again. The edges erode slightly, and the puddle cracks, but it’s still very much  _ there. _

Tedros bites back a snarl of frustration and tries his best to calm down. He knows he has better control when he’s calm, so if he’s less aggressive…

He makes another gesture and only succeeds in making it bigger. 

Tedros abandons  _ being calm  _ and succumbs to a very childish foot stamp--

And recoils as ice erupts from where his foot had landed. 

“Shit.” he mutters, staring at the sheen of ice on the flagstones of the floor. “ _ Shit.” _

Then, something makes him turn. He’s not sure what it is-- the tiniest of movements, or a slight noise, perhaps-- but whatever it is, he notices it. He turns--

And makes eye contact with someone, watching him through the slightly ajar door.

They both recoil, shocked. Tedros has no idea who he’s looking at-- the eye colour is dark, which is very common, it could be anyone... 

All he knows is that he’s been caught.

For a second, neither of them move. 

Slightly belatedly, Tedros raises his hands.

“Is this another attempt at getting rid of me?” he challenges. “Thinking better of it?”

A pause. The eyes narrow. Then;

“Don’t flatter yourself, highness.” says a rough, relatively low, voice. 

It’s horrifyingly familiar.

Tedros’s hands drop to his sides. 

“Agatha.” he says faintly, weak with shock. “Agatha, I--”

He reaches for the door, but Agatha pushes back against it.

“Don’t open the door.” she snaps.

This is exactly how it had played out in his worst imaginings-- Agatha reacting with revulsion and fear. Tedros’s stomach drops. 

“Agatha, I’m not going to hurt you, let me explain--” 

“ _ Don’t!”  _

It opens inwards, and she’s clearly leaning against it-- there’s no way he’ll be able to open it.

“I can control it!” says Tedros desperately, despite there being plenty of evidence to the contrary, jiggling the handle. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but let me talk to you--”

“Your stupid ice magic isn’t the problem!” snarls Agatha. “I guessed last week!  _ Don’t open the door!” _

Tedros, stops, dumbfounded.

“What? But--”

He realises what’s wrong.

He’d seen her eyes. 

“You’re unveiled.” he says.

“I wasn’t intending on being seen.” says Agatha tersely. Tedros hesitates.

“I mean, now you know  _ my _ secret--”

“No.” says Agatha shortly. “I’ll go and get it.”

“But I have a cloak with a pretty deep hood, I promise I won’t try and look--”

“Not enough.” says Agatha shortly. “Wait here.”

Before he can protest, he hears the sound of her retreating.

* * *

He waits awkwardly on his melting patch of ice, trying to make sense of everything, until the door bashes open and Agatha appears, her veil clashing somewhat with her faded black nightdress and unlaced, scuffed boots. 

There’s a pause. 

“Listen.” says Tedros faintly. He clears his throat and tries again. “Agatha, listen, I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you, but my court… I was warned against telling you until after we were married, because they really want the Gavaldon alliance to go ahead, and they were positive it was going to ruin the entire thing. I didn’t want it to ruin the entire thing-- I really  _ don’t  _ want to, now _ \-- _ ”

He stops, wringing his hands anxiously. He hates how he can’t see her face-- he’s never been entirely sure that she’s not just laughing at him from under the veil, or maybe looking at him with derision or hatred or irritation. Now he feels more uncertain than ever. Here’s her future husband, a teenage boy shorter and younger than her, pathetically making his desperate case as to why she should still marry him even though he’s every kind of dangerous.

“I--” his voice cracks, and he tries again. “I know it doesn’t look like it, and I don’t know how much of my conversation with Weatherford you heard--”

“Almost all of it.” says Agatha. Her tone doesn’t convey any kind of hint as to how she’s feeling. “I heard you arguing on my way back from the kitchens. This is very close to my rooms.” 

“Right--” Tedros swallows. “Um, then you know that I’m going to work really hard on controlling it, hopefully I can find a teacher, and…”

He trails off, despairing at Agatha’s total lack of reaction.

“Please don’t hate me.” he croaks. “I promise I don’t mean to be dangerous.”

There’s a long, tense pause. Tedros puts his head down, then notices the ice slowly melting at his feet and looks away sharply. 

“If you want to break it off, I understand,” he says. “Though I-- what are you doing?”

Agatha has set her candle on the windowsill and is stripping off her gloves, without saying anything to him. 

“Please say something.” Tedros begs--

The next second, he’s jumped back, shocked. 

Agatha has swept the flame from the candle, holding the tiny thing-- inexplicably, still alight-- in her palm. Turning back to him, she snaps her wrist down. The flame sputters and  _ grows,  _ leaping from a tiny flicker to a lashing tongue in a second. Agatha turns calmly, brings her arm back, and throws it smoothly into the unlit fireplace, which ignites instantly with a  _ whumph. _

Tedros stares, hardly able to make sense of what he’s seeing. He’s seen people perform tricks with fire before, but nothing he’s ever seen has come close to this.

Agatha turns back to him, picks the candle back up, and pinches the wick. Another flame springs up in the first one’s place.

She holds her arm out to Tedros. Bewildered, Tedros stares at her--

The veins in her arm have begun to glow.

“I think,” she says quietly. “Our courts have a very warped sense of humour.”

* * *

“So it was obvious.” says Tedros flatly, twenty minutes later. Agatha had hauled him (panicking and incoherent) into her sitting room, and told him to  _ shut up so I can explain.  _ She’d told him how she’d guessed; told him all the slip-ups he’d made and the hints she’d found, to the extent that Tedros is feeling rather stupid. “I didn’t notice a  _ thing  _ about you, and you just guessed immediately...”

“...Not  _ too  _ obvious.” says Agatha, clearly trying to be kind. “I just know more than the average person. I could sense magic off you, but it was muted, so I think I thought you were doing something similar to my mother--”

“You thought I was using  _ appearance magic?”  _ says Tedros incredulously.

“Well, no one looks like... that.” Agatha gestures dismissively at him. “I assume it’s makeup?”

“This is my  _ face!”  _ says Tedros indignantly. “They just dye my hair and change my complexion!”

“...  _ really?”  _ Agatha leans over to stare at him. “Does the magic give you blue hair or something?”

“White.” says Tedros defensively. “They mute my eye colour, because it’s kind of… intense. They dye all my hair including my eyebrows and eyelashes, and give my face colour. I naturally look very pale. Frostbitten. My lips and eyelids are blue-tinged, and my nails are a little blue, as well. I hide it because it scares people.”

And because he much prefers how he looks with makeup on. 

“Fascinating.” muses Agatha. 

Tedros looks at her for a second. He’s never had someone think it was  _ interesting,  _ before. 

Then his brain catches up with everything else she’s said.

“Wait,” he says, suddenly pleased. “You think I’m so good looking, that I look  _ fake--” _

“You look like a  _ doll.”  _ snaps Agatha, drawing back immediately. 

“Why, thank you.”

“It’s not a good thing.”

“I think all the painters would disagree.”

Agatha huffs audibly and abruptly changes the subject.

“Well, it  _ is  _ interesting. I’ve never known how it manifests in other elements.”

“In other--  _ hey! That’s _ why you wear the veil!” Tedros bolts up, triumphant. “Isn’t it? Your magic looks too obvious on you--”

Agatha tenses immediately.

“Partially.” she says shortly.

“Partially?” repeats Tedros, confused. “But--”

Agatha waves her still faintly-glowing arm at him. She’s explained it as a side effect of using her magic, which Tedros thinks is supremely unfair.  _ He _ looks weird even when he’s not using magic. 

“This happens in my shoulders and neck, too. Veil hides it. Also, it means I look too much like my mother did before she started taking appearance magic, so she doesn’t like it.”

“What did Vanessa look like before?”

“Dark hair and eyes.” says Agatha tersely. 

It’s a question he hadn’t expected much of an answer to, but Tedros starts desperately trying to add to his mental portrait of her. It’s not really working. At least he doesn’t have to imagine a sullen Sophie-Vanessa fusion anymore. That hadn’t been pleasant.

“That’s it?” he asks. “But that’s nothing! You could just wear high-necked things, or scarves, and just dye your hair--”

“Like I  _ told  _ you, that’s not the only reason.” snaps Agatha.

“What, does it do something to your face?” Something occurs to Tedros. “Hey, I also sensed magic off of you, and I thought you were using appearance magic, too! Isn’t that funny--” 

He stumbles to a stop at her non-response.

“Um… you’re  _ not,  _ are you?”

“No.” 

“Oh.”

“To answer your question, it doesn’t do a lot to my face. It does more to me internally.” 

“Internally?” asks Tedros worriedly. “Does it make you ill-- oh.  _ Oh _ , was that  _ you? _ ”

“Was  _ what _ me?” demands Agatha, immediately.

“The other day… near my rooms, I heard--”

“You heard me coughing.” groans Agatha. 

“Yeah.” says Tedros sheepishly. “I thought you were choking actually, but by the time I got there, you were gone, there was just some-- some ash.”

Agatha remains silent. Tedros stares at her, horrified.

“You cough up  _ ash?” _

“Embers, actually.”

“ _ What?  _ But-- but doesn’t that  _ hurt?” _

“A little. They don’t burn, obviously, but it makes it… hard to breathe.”

“That’s  _ terrible.”  _ says Tedros desperately. “Can’t you stop it?”

“It’s easier to let it pass.” says Agatha, picking at her nails. “I have to cool myself down, otherwise, and that usually involves water. Recently, I’ve used snow, which is easier, but…”

“Water is bad for you?” 

Even as Tedros says it, he supposes it’s common sense, and Agatha is already nodding.

“I barely drink anything. I take very hot, very shallow, baths-- what?”

Tedros has leapt to his feet, casting around for a pen and paper. 

“We should make a list,” he says, “Of all the things that are problems, or like, symptoms--”

“For your assassin to pick up, yes, good idea.” says Agatha archly.

“No, we can burn it after, it’ll just be easier to remember...”

He trails off. Agatha just looks at him for a second. 

“Maybe that’s stupid. Sorry. I just--”

“Sure, let’s make a list.” says Agatha calmly, and stands to go and get paper.

**TEDROS:**

**Water okay, but even hot water freezes eventually when touched**

**Looks scary without makeup**

**Not very good at controlling magic**

**Swallowing water v. uncomfortable**

**Tears/sweat/blood freeze once out of body**

**Keeps accidentally messing with the weather in the kingdom-- winters super harsh**

**Only just come off of ivy-- might get more powerful?**

**Bites ice-cream** (“Tedros, be serious.”)

**No proper concept of temperature**

**V low body temp**

**AGATHA:**

**Water bad!!!!!!**

**Coughs up embers.**

**Veins glow-- a little cool, a little scary**

**More control-- can regulate body temp somewhat**

**Spicy food tolerance** (“Tedros, don’t actually  _ write that,  _ I was joking! Yes, it’s true, but _ \-- _ ”)

**No proper concept of temperature**

**Scorches things by accident sometimes.**

**V high body temp**

“So, the only thing we’ve got in common is no concept of temperature.” says Tedros, scratching a line under it. “Suppose that makes sense.”

He squints at her list.

“I don’t understand how you can do that.” he says, tapping  _ more control  _ with the pen. “Regulate your body temperature a little, and do all those fun tricks. How’d you learn to control it so much better than me?”

“More research, maybe? I don’t know how much you did--” 

“ _ Research _ ?” repeats Tedros, confused. 

Agatha’s head turns towards him. For a second, neither of them say anything. 

“Oh, my god.” Agatha says faintly. “You don’t know anything about yourself, do you?”

Tedros frowns. He feels that’s a bit harsh. 

“Actually, I--”

“Let me guess, the court, or your parents, maybe both, got really scared. They forced you to wear enchanted gloves to suppress it--” she holds up her own gloves, from her robe pocket. “To drink the ivy...” she leaps to her feet again and starts pacing up and down her rug. “They tried to pretend it was a non-issue, even though it clearly wasn’t, and as a result forbade you from asking about it, or trying it out--”

“You’re smoking.” Tedros interrupts her disturbingly accurate interpretation of his childhood, eyeing the grey curling from the shoulder of her nightgown. 

“Whatever, I’ve got another one--” Agatha turns to him. Even without being able to see her face, he knows she’s aghast. “You mean to tell me you don’t even know what you  _ are?” _

“...I’m  _ cursed _ .” says Tedros. “It’s hardly something to cheer about.”

“Cursed!” barks Agatha, slapping her gloves against her palm. “Is that what they told you? Tedros, you’re an  _ ice spirit!” _

“...what?” He scoffs. “That’s not a  _ thing _ .”

“Of course it is.” says Agatha. “Who would have  _ cursed _ you? There’s no magic users left, anymore.”

“There’s the man who makes my gloves--”

“ _ Our  _ gloves,” says Agatha. “My mother invested in some lovely enchanted magic-restrictors for me, too, and it’s certain to be the same man. Merlin, yes?

“...yes.”

“He also makes my veil. It’s enchanted so you can’t see through it at all.”

Tedros frowns, thinking of the vague impression of her face shape he keeps getting at certain angles. Try as he might, he’s not been able to discern any specific features, but he occasionally gets snatches of a sharp jaw and angular nose. Perhaps the enchantment doesn’t extend to people like him. These… spirits.

“But what does this…  _ spirit  _ thing  _ mean?”  _ he says. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. How come Vanessa let you research everything?”

“She didn’t, technically. But I had the advantage of the fact that she never pays any attention to me, so Callis and I could do it anyway.”

Tedros, who has been dogged by a guard or two since he could toddle, scowls. He’s become supremely jealous of Agatha’s relationship with Callis recently. 

“Well,” he says, “What did you find out?”

Agatha balls up her gloves. Tedros tries to imagine her frowning in concentration--

“I don’t have time to explain it all now.”

“ _ What?  _ But, Agatha--”

“It’s too long, and it’s nearly 3 in the morning already.” says Agatha. “When we’re next planning, I’ll explain it to you then-- wait. I’ve got a better idea.”

“What?”

“You need a teacher. Weatherford said you need a teacher. I’ll do it.”

And, just like that, all of his problems are solved.

“ _ Yes _ !” Tedros nearly shrieks, “You could… you could... wait, you don’t know anything about my powers.”

But Agatha waves him off. 

“I can work it out. It’ll be different techniques, but it’s mostly common sense-- with fire, I need to be sharp and fast. I think you’ll need to be much more settled. The only problem is, we’ll have to have a good explanation for disappearing off together…”

It’s Tedros’s turn to look at her like she’s an idiot. 

“Agatha. There’s a ball coming up, and would I be correct in assuming you don’t know any of the traditional dances of this country?”

“There are traditional dances?” says Agatha apprehensively. 

“No, then.” sighs Tedros, suspecting from her reaction that she can barely dance in the first place. “Well, you’ve got two weeks to learn them, and I’ll make sure I’m the one who’s sent to teach you. And it means we can be in close proximity without suspicion, which makes talking without being overheard easy. I’ll request a large space, probably one of the West Galleries, no one ever goes up there, so we can hide any evidence… hm.” He frowns, suddenly realising a snag. “They’re going to want us to have a chaperone, they’ll never leave unmarried couples together to avoid any… uh,  _ debauchery _ . That could be a problem. Who in your party knows?”

He gets no response. 

“Agatha? Does anyone apart from your mother know about your magic?”

“...what? Oh, they all do, all of them.” says Agatha, sounding rather hassled. “I’ll ask Callis to come with us.”

“Oh, good.” says Tedros. “Callis has a reputation for not liking me, amongst my staff, so they’ll probably just accept the overprotective nursemaid thing out of hand.” 

He peers at Agatha, who is standing rather stiffly.

“Do you think this is a bad plan?”

“Huh? Oh no, it should work.”

“You just seemed distracted.”

“No no, I’m fine--” Agatha seems to gather herself. “Yes, send me a note through Callis, she’ll hand it straight over.” says Agatha. Tedros nods, relieved, and turns to the door as she adds; “I’m sorry for spying on you.” 

Tedros had almost completely forgotten about that.

“Oh! It’s alright. I suppose you were just curious. Wanted to confirm your theory?”

Agatha screws her gloves up.

“... yeah.” she says. “Yeah, that was it.”

Tedros gets the impression that she’s not telling the full truth, but he’s too excited to question her further. 

“Goodnight!” he says brightly. “Should I call you professor, now?”

Agatha laughs at him. It’s raspy and weird, but it’s more genuine than he’s heard before.

“Absolutely  _ not _ . Get out of my sitting room.”

“As my Queen commands.”

Tedros bows out of the door to a muttered  _ we’re not married yet,  _ and saunters down the corridor, grinning broadly to himself--

Where he encounters the ice puddle, still stoutly there. 

He pauses, and casts a glance around to see if anyone is around. There’s no one.

_ I think you’ll need to be much more settled. _

He turns to it and takes a breath. 

Then he makes a slight, but firm, gesture of dismissal, digging his feet into the flagstones--

And the puddle disappears. 

For a second, he stares at it, shocked. 

Then he smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to part 2, people!   
> I wasn't sure if I should post this so close to the big bang, but I did a poll and people said I should just do it so... sorry if you're being bombarded with fics lol. also, sorry this took so long! when I finished last chapter, I realised I didn't like my original plan for this one, so I held off until I had a better one


	15. the eastern gallery

Tedros is skating when she arrives.

The sun is barely up, just skimming the horizon, and the majority of its light is obscured by another low-lying swathe of black clouds which indicate yet more snow-- they make the morning grey and shadowy, which is a perfect cover. The lake isn’t visible from the castle.

Convenient, that.

Usually he comes here to blow off steam, stealing skates from the storerooms because he couldn’t be bothered to try and make them, and going from one end of the lake to the other as fast as he can. But today, he’d tried something else-- he’d sat down in the snow and crafted two thin blades of ice, and jabbed them into the bottom of his boots. It had taken a few tries to get them right-- they’d been too thick the first time, and the second time they’d been cut at the wrong angle, so he’d fallen over when he’d tried to jump. 

But the third time had worked. 

He skates in lazy circles, listening to the rasp of ice against ice and feeling the cold wind smack against his face. They are friends, he and the northern wind. He’s always cold, so it really just feels familiar. Kindred spirits. 

Spirits. 

He goes into a crouch, letting his momentum carry him from one bank to the other. He’s still yet to properly process what Agatha told him the other night. He doesn’t understand how this _spirit_ thing works, and he’s had no opportunity to question her about it. Today will be the first time he’s seen her since she caught him in the corridor. He’s been too busy convincing his court why he should come off the ivy, whilst fighting the withdrawal symptoms. 

It’s why he’s out here-- he’d woken at 2am with a stabbing migraine and cramps, and, in desperation, had staggered out to the gardens and flung himself into a snowdrift, praying it would help. It had, somewhat. Clearly, however his magic works, it has become overzealous now he’s unrestricted it. He’d turned half of his bed frame to ice in his sleep, and he’d woken up with his hair bleached white, again. He’d done a shoddy job of re-dyeing it himself, barely able to focus on himself in the mirror, but it was passably golden again, so he couldn’t find the effort to care. 

He wishes he’d looked more into how the ivy worked. It had just been a tentative trial, at first, but it had quickly become a requirement, and he’d been too frightened by what had happened at the coronation to argue, or even bother to ask about it. 

He should have.

As if responding to the thought, there’s another stab of pain behind his eyes. Tedros growls and straightens back up, skating faster, faster--

He kicks off into a spin and lets the sudden slap of force and cold air knock any thoughts out of his head. 

When he comes out of it, Agatha is standing on the opposite bank, an inkblot in her black gown against the snowy grass.

He can see the crumpled piece of paper, tan against her black glove, and knows she got his note. 

Relieved that she’d agreed to come so early, he kicks off and glides over to the bank, the only sound the grind of his skates against the ice. 

He stops in front of her and hops up onto the grass, snapping the blades from the bottom of his boots and tossing them into a snowdrift. He expects a barrage of questions, but she doesn’t say anything-- just stands, holding her veil down as the wind snaps around them. 

“I feel underdressed.” he says, eyeing her full gown and headpiece as the wind whistles through his unlaced shirt. 

Agatha ignores the comment, and Tedros finds himself slightly disappointed that she gives no visible reaction to the fact that most of his chest is exposed.

“Aren’t you cold?” she says blandly. 

“Always cold, my lady.” says Tedros.

“Do you do that often?” she asks, instead. “Sneak out to skate on the lake?”

“When I can,” says Tedros, seeing no point in denying it. “It clears my head.” He looks hopefully at her. “How long were you watching?”

“Not long.” 

“Oh.”

“But long enough.” she pauses. “It looks a little like dancing. What you were doing.”

“It is, I suppose.” Tedros looks back at the lake, where the loops and tracks he’s left glimmer as more light comes over the trees. “In a way. I don’t suppose you want me to teach you?”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” says Agatha, sounding, he thinks, a little more amused. Tedros can see how the grass around her skirt is becoming more exposed by the second, and can’t help but agree. “But I believe you’re supposed to teach me how to dance normally.” 

He’d almost forgotten. 

“Because… that’s what we’re doing?” he asks.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t dance.” says Agatha. “We may need to alternate.”

While Tedros considers knowing how to control his magic rather more important than whether or not Agatha knows the steps to a set of specific waltzes, he, above all, knows the importance of appearances.

With a sigh, he turns back to the lake and stamps on it. 

The scores from his skates disappear, and the lake is as good as new.

* * *

“You have some modicum of control, then.” says Agatha, as they climb the stairs to the Eastern Gallery. “If you can clear your tracks.”

“I know how to do a few basic things very well.” says Tedros, bashing the stiff door open with his hip. No one ever comes in here, so it’s a perfect choice. “Freezing and re-freezing. And sculpting. Mostly.”

He doesn’t add that the reason for that is because they’re the only things he was _allowed_ to do as a child. 

“Sculpting? Making things out of ice?”

“Sure. I’ll make you something at the end of the lesson!”

“Alright.” says Agatha, and this time he’s sure he can hear a smile in her voice. 

Tedros turns into the empty room and frowns. 

“I thought you said you were bringing Lady Netherwood?”

“She went back to bed.” snorts Agatha. “She’ll be along later.”

“It feels as if that’s shirking her duties.”

“She doesn’t care.” says Agatha, stretching her arms and stripping her gloves off. She looks over at the window for a moment.

“Something wrong?” asks Tedros

Agatha waves a hand at him, setting a ring down with her gloves on the sill. 

“Just trying to glean how far I can go, today.”

Tedros frowns.

“What’s that got to do with outside?”

“When there’s more sun, it’s easier.” says Agatha. 

“You can… draw power from the sun?”

“No.” says Agatha dismissively. “But it’s easier for me to create my own fire when it’s sunny, especially in the summer. But in the winter, there’s usually a good supply of it around for me to take…”

She turns to the lit fireplace. 

“It’s easier for you to just take it?” asks Tedros, fascinated. 

“Surely you’ve noticed it takes more effort to create or get rid of something new, than it does to manipulate something that already exists.” says Agatha, crouching down and coaxing a tendril of flame away from the rest of the fire, curling it around her fingers like a ribbon. 

Tedros doesn’t respond. Thinking on it, he supposes she might be right, but he doesn’t think he’s had enough experience to know for sure.

Agatha seems to read into his silence. 

“Well, open the window and get some snow from the windowsill. We’ll start with that.”

Tedros does as he’s told, and settles on the floor as she plops down opposite him in a heap of black velvet, exposing servants boots instead of the satin heels Sophie and Vanessa seem to wear.

“Hold that snow in one hand.”

He does, shifting it into his left hand, and Agatha copies him with her fire, coiling it into a ball in her palm.

“So, easy to maintain, right?”

Tedros looks down at the unmelting snow in his palm.

“Yeah.”

“Now try and create some more, in your other hand.”

Tedros frowns down at his right hand, and tries to remember how it had felt to summon it. He’s never really done it before. He tends to work with what’s already there. Anything he’s _created_ has usually been by accident or in panic. 

“Er,” he says. “How?”

Agatha, veins starting to glow in both hands, now, lifts a shoulder.

“How do you usually do it?”

“I… don’t.” says Tedros faintly. “They don’t let me.”

“Hmm.” Agatha snaps her fingers a few times, as if striking a flint, and a flame springs up in her hand. “Well, how do you _want_ to do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I _chose_ to do it like that.” she says, tipping the new flame into the one she’d taken from the fireplace, and snapping her fingers again to summon a new one. “I use specific motions for most things, so I can be sure what I’m doing. If I used the same motion for everything, I’d start doing the wrong thing. I snap to summon, I flick my wrist down to make it bigger and up to make it smaller, and I flex my hands to spread it. I _could_ just will things to happen, and they probably would, but having specific motions for them makes it easier to control.”

“...oh.” Tedros decides not to admit he’d just been waving his hands at everything in a vaguely hopeful way for seventeen years. “That makes sense.”

“You’ve already got one.” says Agatha. 

“ _Have_ I?”

“You stamped on the ice to re-freeze that lake, didn’t you? And when you accidentally froze over the floor, that was because you were being childish.”

Tedros glares at her. 

“So, stamping on something or hitting it with the flat of your hand is probably a good way of freezing things.” says Agatha, ignoring his irritation. “Try that, instead. It didn’t occur to me that summoning might not work the same way, for you.”

Tedros blinks at her.

“Go on, then.” Agatha shuffles back and points to the floor.

“But… I can’t unfreeze it.” says Tedros. “Not well. I did it once, but that was luck--”

“We’ll get to that.” says Agatha, standing to sit on a chair near a display of several small, dusty pots, still carrying her fire. “Do it.”

Doubtfully, Tedros tries to focus, and smacks the floor with his hand.

Nothing happens.

“With _conviction.”_ says Agatha. “You have to _try._ Think of your magic like a cynical betrothed that you have to convince of your power and influence.” 

“You’ll _never_ consider me powerful or influential.” snorts Tedros.

“Maybe if you stop stalling and actually try, I might.”

“I’ve tried! I _am_ trying!”

“No, you’re not.” says Agatha lazily, settling further back in her chair and starting to make what looked suspiciously like a cat’s cradle out of her flames.

Tedros scowls. He _knows_ how much further ahead of him she is in terms of control. She doesn’t need to rub it in his face.

“You’re just going to sit there and do cute tricks with that, instead of helping?” he snaps.

“Sure. How am I supposed to help if you’re not doing anything?”

Tedros turns away for a moment to check his anger, but planning to get her back later, when they’re dancing--

He turns back to see a stained glass pot flying at his head.

He doesn’t think, he just _does--_ slashes his hand out at it and shatters it into a spray of snow, which goes drifting harmlessly to the ground.

“What the _hell_ are you playing at?” he demands, wheeling to Agatha--

Then he realises what he’s done.

“Now that,” says Agatha, “is interesting.”

“What are you playing at?” demands Tedros. “You threw glass at my head--!”

“Fighting already? I shouldn’t have slept in.” 

The door bashes open and Callis comes sauntering in, her ugly bald cat dangling from one arm and a basket from the other. 

“He operates best in self-defence or panic.” says Agatha, barely acknowledging what her nursemaid has just said. 

Callis frowns, letting a wriggling Reaper jump down and sprint over to the snow on the floor. 

“Unsurprising. Might be a problem, though.”

Uncomfortable, Tedros opens his mouth to ask why he’s being talked about like a specimen--

Callis turns to Tedros, eyes piercing.

“How did you _actually_ survive that assassination attempt?” she asks.

Tedros blinks.

“I didn’t lie. I said I grabbed the knife, and I did, but the _reason_ I grabbed it was because I turned it to ice. I squeezed it and it exploded.”

“Took the weapon off him.” muses Callis. “Clever. And you did that… on instinct?”

“More or less.”

“It makes sense.” says Callis, turning to look at both of them. “Agatha, fire is mostly man-made, and controlled by humans. It’s not surprising that Tedros operates more on instinct, since snow and ice is natural.”

Tedros hasn’t ever thought of it that way.

“So you think I just need to… act on instinct?”

“Not entirely. But more than Agatha, who needs to be on guard more to keep it under control. It’s more of a natural part of you.” 

“...oh.”

“You still have some white roots, by the way.”

Callis gathers her skirts and goes to sit in a window nook.

“I brought breakfast.” she says. “Mind heating the tea for us, Agatha?” 

“I don’t even _drink_ tea. This is just for you. I’m not your portable kitchen.” sulks Agatha, but she does come sloping over to sit next to Tedros again, taking the teapot in her hands. Tedros looks between them, irritation replaced by bemusement.

“How do you two _know_ so much?”

“Anything you tell Agatha is immediately relayed to me.” says Callis cheerfully. 

“No, not about _me_.” dismisses Tedros, though he is storing that information for later reference. “Just about… the magic thing in general.”

“Oh.” Callis props her foot against the wall and dumps the basket in Tedros’s lap. “Well, I have been researching it for nearly eighteen years.”

Tedros sighs, selecting a croissant before immediately having the basket snatched from his hands by an enthusiastic Agatha.

“If my parents or the court did any research, I was never party to it.”

“I’ve been eavesdropping on conversations and asking around,” says Callis. “--Agatha, stop pigging on those pastries until you’ve heated the tea--”

“I cam do bowth.”

Callis ignores Agatha, and Agatha ungraciously clamps her hands on the tea, counts to thirty, and then slams it on top of the basket. 

“Who raised you?” sighs Callis, wiping the spilt tea off the top of it.

“You.” garbles Agatha, shoving another pastry under her veil. Tedros snorts and takes an apple.

“You were saying…?”

“Oh, right.” says Callis, deliberately spilling tea on Agatha’s knee as she pours it. Agatha makes a very unprincess-like gesture at her, even though there’s no way she’s actually burned in the slightest. “Well, it looks like they actually don’t know that much. They’ve been begging Vanessa for help, which, obviously, she can’t provide because she has nothing to do with Agatha. But she could at least tell them about the spirit thing, which they didn’t seem to know, which doesn’t fill me with confidence--”

“Can you explain it to _me?”_ Tedros begs. “It’s about _me_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to that--” Callis shoves the rest of an orange into her mouth and pulls a piece of paper and a pencil from her pocket, scribbling down some notes. “If you can connect the dots, it’s pretty well-documented. Going back around seven hundred years, there were about three or four extremely powerful mage families that loads of people attempted to marry into. Their names have mostly been lost, because royal families married into them and the names got mangled as people married. Obviously, royalty were getting there first because they saw that magic equalled money and power. So, skip forward a hundred years, there's lots of magic-inclined royal families running around, and, as royalty’s nature tends to be, they try and preserve the power within their bloodline-- although they're warned against concentrating the power, and mages advise them to marry people without magic, they don’t listen. For a couple of centuries, all the royal houses were getting more and more powerful-- and then, about five hundred years ago, it all just stopped. Heirs got less and less powerful, and eventually stopped being born with magic altogether. People who could use it were _incredibly_ high in demand. Magic became rarer and rarer, and most people who could still use it went into hiding for their own safety. Relations drifted apart, people started marrying for love instead of power, and magic became more of a story that your grandma tells you than a reality. I found all this in records in the libraries and archives in Gavaldon.” 

She pauses to take a gulp of tea, and then points the mug at them.

“Then, people start being born that are far too powerful. Most of them have died now, but, wouldn’t you know it, two specific babies are born within months of each other. One in House Pendragon and the other in House Aldridge, who were the worst for marrying for power, back in the day. And both babies have the unrestrained consequences of hundreds of years of built-up power finally manifesting at once. Because it's so potent, it takes one form-- elemental, rather than any kind of general talent. And it’s _so_ potent that it more or less strips you of your status as human. You two look and act and _think_ like humans, but I’ve seen Agatha angry.”

She lets the statement hang.

“What happens?” asks Tedros, fascinated.

“What do you think happens?” snorts Callis. “Whoosh. Fire. Absolutely _destroyed_ the rhododendron garden. Burned half her hair off.”

“Is that--”

“ _That is not why I wear the veil, Tedros.”_ snarls Agatha. 

“Right.”

“You should probably stop asking.” Callis advises Tedros. “But yes, it was scary. And she was only eleven. I would _not_ like to see what she can do now. And you’re clearly not completely human, because neither of you drink enough for normal humans, and you have odd physical attributes that just don’t happen to humans.”

“I don’t have _that_ many.” scoffs Tedros.

“You have permanent frostbite colouring on your hands.” says Callis. Tedros shoves his hands in his pockets self-consciously. He’d forgotten to put foundation on them this morning. 

“So, history lesson over.” says Callis, swinging her legs down. “What happens when _you_ have children is a mystery. Maybe no magic at all. We’ll see.”

“If.” mutters Agatha.

“I’m afraid it’s a _when,_ sweetheart. You’re both the only legitimate children of the current rulers, and my position in your court more or less relies upon mini Agathas.”

Tedros and Agatha look awkwardly away from one another.

“But you’re both still kids yourselves, so, yes, I _did_ tell Lord Harris to worry about his own illegitimate brats instead of yours the other week.”

Tedros’s mouth falls open.

“How did you know he’s got ille-”

“Shall we practice a little more?” asks Callis cheerily. “I’m too hot. I should know better than to wear black and antagonise Agatha.”

* * *

“This is pointless.” Tedros growls two hours later, shaking snow out of his hair. “I can’t do _anything.”_

“You’re doing plenty.” says Agatha. 

“Yes, we’ve learned that if we annoy you enough, you throw a chunk of ice at my ward’s head.” says Callis from her window seat.

“It was an _accident.”_ moans Tedros. “I said I was sorry.”

“We’re even, I threw a pot at you on _purpose_ .” says Agatha. She looks down at the sheen of ice on the floor. “I know you _can_ make it disappear. You said you could-- you got rid of that puddle.”

“Not this _much_.” Tedros sighs, sliding about on it like a penguin. 

“So? It’s thinner than that puddle.” she frowns. “Tell me what you did, again.”

“I just… was firm with it, I guess.”

“It makes sense.” says Agatha. “It’s harder to budge than fire, so you’ll need more force to control it-- I need to be more fluid to control it, and you need to be firmer.”

“But then again,” says Callis, “You need to be firm to stop it going further than you want. And he was perfectly fluid when he was pissing around on that lake this morning.”

 _Of course Callis saw me,_ thinks Tedros gloomily. Nothing got past that woman. 

“I think you’re right about the fundamentals of it,” adds Callis. “But maybe applying aspects of each other’s techniques could work….”

Tedros sighs. Agatha and Callis look at him.

* * *

Five minutes later, Tedros is lying on his stomach on the ice and Agatha is trying to guess what he’s making. 

“Um, a magic wand.”

“Ha ha, no.”

“Move your arm!”

“No.”

“What’s that, a golf ball?”

“Give me more than twenty seconds, won’t you?”

“Fine.” Agatha sits huffily back on her melting patch of ice and tries to pet a bad-tempered Reaper.

Tedros runs his hands along the ice he’s pulled from the floor, willing it to take the form he wants, pinching the edges--

He gets the impression he’s being watched, and glances over to see Callis watching him over the top of her book.

“What?” he says.

She shakes her head and says nothing. Frowning, Tedros goes back to his ice for a few more minutes--

Then he rolls over and presents it to Agatha.

“For you.”

Agatha doesn’t react for a minute, staring at the ice rose. Tedros hesitates.

“Maybe it’s stupid. I used to make them for Beatrix and Dot. And my mother.” he bites his cheek, starting to feel severely embarrassed. “I-- I know you can’t keep it for very long, but I just thought--”

Agatha leans over and plucks it out of his hands, setting it in her lap.

“Thank you.” she says quietly. 

Tedros, still uncertain if he overstepped, glances over at Callis--

“Do what you just did to that rose to the floor.” commands Callis.

“Huh?”

“ _That_ was control. You just only know how to do it on a small scale. Whittle it down!”

“But I--” Tedros trails off, standing up and looking at the floor. It shouldn’t be too hard for him to take the edges off, and if he just--

He and Agatha jump back at the crack as half of the ice shudders, splits, and disappears.

“I didn’t even touch it!” he says, bewildered.

“You don’t have to.” muses Callis. “I think it’s just easier if you do. But if you’re focused enough, you can do it without it. I see Agatha affecting fireplaces sometimes.”

Tedros frowns, feeling the chill emanating from the floor, the presence of something familiar to him--

Another crack, and the rest is gone.

Tedros wheels to Agatha.

“I did it! I got it to--”

Behind them, the door creaks.

They hear Vanessa's voice too late, and the door is opening before they can process it--

Without thinking, Tedros grabs Agatha's hand, flings an arm around her waist, and yanks her against him.

Callis makes a quiet, strangled sound that Tedros realises too late is meant to be a warning.

He panics and tries to let go--

Agatha seizes him harder, squeezing his hand in hers.

"I'm not slouching." She snaps, improvising faster than Tedros ever could, but he can feel her heart pounding.

"You _were_." Returns Tedros hoarsely, wondering what it feels like to be burned properly. He clears his throat and turns to the door, as if he's only just noticed them. "Oh. Queen Vanessa. Lady Sophie."

"Good morning, highness." Says Sophie, uninterested, from the doorway. Vanessa is lurking behind her, frowning. "I was wondering where you were practicing. Looks like it's going… well." She grimaces at Agatha, indicating the opposite. "I wouldn't want to teach her, so you're practically a _saint_. Well, let's not interrupt, Mother dear! I don't want to let that feral cat out--"

Reaper hisses on cue from by Callis's feet, and Sophie manages to hustle Vanessa away from the doorway, twittering airily about betrothals and cats and rondels--

The second the door shuts, Tedros snatches his hands away from Agatha--

“I’ve got burn ointment.” says Callis immediately, as Agatha backs away, holding her hands away from him. Tedros stares unseeingly at her, mind racing, flexing and unflexing his hands, trying to work out why they feel so odd-- 

“You’ve both been using magic,” continues Callis. “So there’s no way you managed to regulate your temperature enough. Tedros, let me look at your hands-- Tedros, _no!”_

For Tedros has lunged and seized Agatha’s hands again.

“What are you doing?” barks Agatha, trying to pull away. “Stop! You’re going to--”

She goes quiet.

“Are you trying to _kill_ each other?” Callis stands up and starts for them--

Then she realises, too. 

They’re not going to hurt one another.

Because it doesn’t hurt. Tedros hasn’t been burnt.

He was just feeling warmth for the first time in his life. 

“You cancel each other out.” Callis says blankly. “Don’t you?”

Slowly, Tedros and Agatha look at one another.

* * *

“I don’t know what she thinks she’s going to find in the library.” mutters Agatha, breaking another petal off her melting ice rose and squishing it in-between her fingers. It appears that even if Tedros himself can withstand her, his creations can’t. “There’s never been interaction between spirits before that I’ve ever read about.”

Tedros sighs, watching her vandalise his sculpture. Agatha’s fingers still. 

“Sorry. Stressed.”

“It’s okay,” says Tedros. “It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.”

They fall silent. Agatha shuffles in her seat uncomfortably, wondering what to say to him. She barely knows what to do. So, they couldn't hurt each other. It was the first time she'd ever felt cold, but it wasn't _too_ cold. It didn't hurt. It was just… there.

 _So._ The vast majority of her previous problems have suddenly become void, and she doesn’t know how to feel. Of course, there’s still the issue of her face, and the fact that Tedros can’t control his magic, but…

Anxious, she clasps her hands together, wondering how to explain this to Vanessa. They could keep it secret until after the wedding and pretend they’d found it out by accident-- if they admitted they knew it now, it would raise too many questions. But then, even if they knew _after_ the wedding, it might mean that Vanessa would consider them too much of a threat, if she knew they weren’t dangerous to one another. Maybe she’d try and separate them, or take control over Tedros using Weatherford, or--

Tension, presumably panic, is building in her chest. She stands to pace, wringing her hands, and realises she can smell smoke. She looks down at herself, looking for where she’s scorching her clothing, but it’s not apparent. Maybe her stockings. She turns and takes a breath--

And realises she can’t.

She freezes for a second. 

_Not again not again not again not again not again not again--_

Her legs buckle and she grabs a side table to keep herself upright, her other hand shooting to cover her mouth.

She vaguely hears Tedros stand up behind her (“Agatha? What’s wrong?”) but she can’t focus on him, fighting for air--

Her lungs give up on her and she starts hacking, spitting embers onto the floor and struggling for breath more than ever before. Shuddering, she sinks to her knees-- she might not be human, but she still needs to breathe, fire needs oxygen and she _hasn’t_ _got any--_

Head fuzzy, she barely realises she’s crying until she finds she hasn’t the breath for _that_ , either. Desperate, she yanks her veil back to try and get more air, but it doesn't work-- instead, she starts to cough up smoke along with the embers. 

Agatha starts to hyperventilate, wondering if this time, it’ll finally finish her off--

Someone grabs her from behind and clamps their hands across her ribcage. Agatha makes a shaky attempt at fending them off, sure it’s Callis come to drag her under water, and desperate for her to let go, she can barely breathe as it is--

But it's not Callis, because Callis isn't that cold. So it's-- so it's--

Agatha takes a shuddering breath, shallow and painful... but it's a _breath._

Shaking, scraping ash from her lips, her brain finally catches up.

She jerks, horrified.

" _Tedros--_ "

"I'm not looking." Says Tedros firmly. From the corner of her eye, Agatha can see that Tedros is facing away, looking out across the room instead of at her. "Here."

He takes the front part of her veil from where she's pushed it back and carefully drops it back over her face.

Still wheezing, Agatha leans forward, suddenly more aware of how Tedros's chest is pressed against her back and how cold his hands are on her ribs.

"How…" she pauses and clears her throat, trying to be rid of the hoarseness in her voice. It doesn't really work. "How did you know that would work?"

She spits a stray ember onto the floor. 

"I remembered that you said you'd been using snow to stop it." Says Tedros. "So I thought… I thought it'd be okay-- I asked you but you didn't hear me--"

" ’s fine. It worked, faster than anything else has." Says Agatha faintly, tipping her aching head back. She's fairly sure it's against his shoulder, but she can't bring herself to care. She pauses. "... Are you sure you didn't--"

"Doesn't matter how nosey I am or how much I keep bugging you about the veil." Mumbles Tedros. "You said not until the wedding. So not until the wedding." 

Agatha finds it highly unlikely that he can't have seen _anything_ , but he sounds earnest enough, and she appreciates the sentiment.

"Okay." She says faintly. “...thank you.”

There's a pause. Agatha's not sure whether her heart or Tedros's is beating harder. 

"Are you alright?" Asks Tedros anxiously.

"I… think so." Agatha tries to sit up a little straighter, rubbing her chest. "Didn't last as long as some, but it hurt a lot."

"Why's it happen?" Asks Tedros, slowly letting go of her. "What triggers it?" 

"I don't know." Croaks Agatha. "Stress, I think."

"I'd have thought you'd be less stressed, now." Admits Tedros.

"I--"

"What in god's good name are you two _doing_ ? I didn't think I was _actually_ supposed to be preventing debauchery."

Callis is back, and Tedros springs guiltily to his feet. Agatha slumps back against the table and points wordlessly at the ashes on the floor.

Callis is over to her immediately, fussing like she always does, but Agatha is waving her off--

"I'm okay, it’s alright--" She wipes her shaking, ash-streaked hands on her skirt. "Tedros stopped it." 

Callis raises her eyebrows. Tedros shuffles awkwardly, struggling to find an explanation. 

"She said that the cold stopped it, so… I grabbed her..."

"I see." says Callis.

There’s a pause. 

She sounds _and_ looks reproving, but Agatha knows she’s not. In fact, she gets the distinct impression that Callis is trying not to laugh at them. Agatha, shaking and ash-streaked on the floor, and Tedros standing twitchily over her, picking at his frostbitten nails.

She makes a note to smack Callis for it later.

"Well!" Callis chirps, helping Agatha up. "You two are going to have an interesting marriage, aren't you?"

“You think you’re _so_ funny, don’t you.” says Agatha blackly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REVELATION OR THIRTY.  
> I mean... she's right. interesting to the max.  
> do we think tedros looked? well, I know, but you don't lmao so you can speculate abt that.  
> (there'll be some actual dancing next chapter sjsjkdnd)


	16. the ball

“Aggie, I’m cold.”

Agatha opens her eyes to blackness, but she knows the voice. 

Sighing, she sits up and lights up her hand-- and lo and behold, she finds Sophie standing over her bed, shivering in her silk nightgown and hair curlers.

“Wearing that stupid thing in winter will do that to you.” she says. 

Sophie pouts.

“It’s fas--”

“ _ It’s fashion. _ I know.” Agatha throws the duvet back bad-temperedly. “Get in, bother.”

Beaming, Sophie scrabbles in beside her. 

“This is nice.”

“I’m not your personal furnace.” says Agatha, shaking her hand out and plunging them back into darkness. 

“I never said you were, darling.”

“Your opening line was  _ I’m cold.”  _

Sophie pretends not to hear her.

“ _ So _ ,” she says, pointedly.

“So what?” Agatha isn’t really listening, battling with the will of the fireplace, trying to relight it without touching it. Or leaving her bed. With enough aggressive hand-waving, she just about succeeds in producing enough light to see Sophie’s smirk.

“Monday’s revelation solves a few problems, doesn’t it?” she says innocently.

Agatha is honestly surprised she’s gotten this far without Sophie confronting her about it, but Vanessa has been lurking for most of this week, so they’ve not really had the chance to talk privately. Agatha suspects this is why she’s  _ actually  _ come here, not because she was cold. 

“The ‘ _ what if I accidentally assassinate Tedros’  _ problem?” snorts Agatha. “Suppose it does. But who told you--”

“Oh Aggie, I put two and two together the second I saw neither of you were wearing gloves. Don’t think Mother noticed, thank  _ god,  _ but I assumed, since neither of you looked pained…” she leans forwards conspiratorially. “So… you can’t hurt one another?”

“Seems that way.” mutters Agatha, rolling onto her side to look Sophie in the face. She’s impressed that Sophie seems to be already willing to keep it from Vanessa. “I mean, if he were to impale me with an icicle, that’d probably be _ goodbye Agatha, _ but in terms of body temperature… no. It’s more like what I assume ordinary cold is like. Like cold water, but it doesn’t hurt like water does.”

“Hmm.” Sophie considers this. “Well, that makes the wedding easier.”

“What? How?”

“Well, you can kiss him, now!” 

Agatha’s eye twitches. That hadn’t even  _ remotely  _ entered her worries, but apparently Sophie had taken it very seriously.

“...right.” she says. “Yeah. That.”

She tries not to look as panicked as she feels. She’s not thought about that at all, not since the revelation that he was young and hot and probably acceptable to kiss--

“Heard Callis caught you in a compromising position.” says Sophie sweetly.

Agatha snatches the pillow from beneath Sophie’s head and clobbers her with it. 

“I was _choking_ on ash _,_ you _meddling_ \-- _”_

Sophie kicks her and swipes it back.

“Ow! Well, why did he have to grab you around the waist for that?” 

“Because,  _ darling,  _ it appears he’s cold enough to stop it.”

“Really.” says Sophie, unconvinced.

“ _Yes!_ And I didn’t do it on _purpose!”_ hisses Agatha. “Just because you would use it to get close to him doesn’t mean I would! And I can’t make it happen on command!”

“Well, it would have been very convenient if you had.” sniffs Sophie. “I’m sure he’s very noble--”

“He nearly saw my face.” says Agatha. “I pulled my veil back to try and breathe.”

That stops Sophie short. She looks sharply at her, tension suddenly lining her face.

“ _ Did  _ he?”

“I don’t know.” says Agatha quietly. “He claims he didn’t, and said he respects my wishes to keep the veil on until the wedding. He put it back on for me, but he  _ could _ have seen…” She trails off. 

This has been the issue that’s been bothering her, not the revelation that they can’t hurt one another. That’s that. It’s a surprising, albeit helpful, development, but it’s done now. But her face... 

“He was definitely looking away.” she says. “And I was facing away from him. But he’s been very eager to know, so… I can’t be sure.”

There’s a pause.

“He’s not mentioned it since?”

“No. I’ve seen him every day since and he hasn’t said a thing, and his attitude towards me hasn’t changed, but…”

She trails off. 

“I don’t think he’d lie.” says Sophie.

Agatha doesn’t respond, because she isn’t so sure. She doesn’t believe he’d lie to her to be malicious, but he might if he wanted to make her feel better, or if he’d wanted to pretend to  _ himself  _ that he’d not seen…

“I’ll ask Beatrix.” Sophie says. “And get Hester to ask Dot. He’ll tell them the truth, won’t he?”

Agatha purses her lips.

“Probably, but he knows they serve me, too, so… he might not.”

“Hester can ask Chaddick too, then.” says Sophie firmly. “We’ll find out.”

Agatha doesn’t respond. 

They fall into an anxious silence. Agatha has rolled over to face away from Sophie. 

Then;

“I don’t think he’ll mind, Aggie.” says Sophie softly. “It’s not really so bad. It just makes your mouth look a little odd, sometimes.”

Agatha makes a non-committal sound. She knows that despite her attempts to be blasé about it, Sophie never will get used to it. It’s always unsettled her slightly, though it’s unclear if the actual look of Agatha’s face, or the knowledge of what caused it, is what scares her. Probably both. But either way, the contrast with Sophie and Vanessa’s flawless faces-- and now Tedros’s, too-- is always going to make hers look worse.

Sophie is still going;

“I know Mother’s an old witch about it, but I promise it’s not that terrible--”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Sophie, but I know you’re lying through your teeth.” snaps Agatha. Sophie falls silent. They’re clearly both thinking of Sophie’s comment from their argument the other month; 

_ I think he’ll turn tail at the wedding, the second he takes that veil off. _

“I didn’t  _ mean _ it.” mumbles Sophie. “I promise I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter.” 

A beat.

“It’s so _tiring_.” says Agatha, voice cracking. “Having to think about it constantly. Always having that damned woman on my back about leaning too far forwards, or lifting it to eat, or having it on straight. For _eighteen_ _years_.” She pauses. Swallows. “I just know Tedros is getting the wrong idea.” she says, quieter. 

“He said he didn’t care--”

“No.” rasps Agatha. “I mean that I sort of… get the impression he thinks I’m  _ beautiful _ . And if that’s the case, he’s going to be so aghast at the wedding--”

God, the  _ wedding-- _

Agatha puts her hands over her face, disturbingly close to tears. All this time, she’d thought the issue of her magic was the main reason she was so stressed, but now, with that out of the way, she realises that’s not it at all. 

“I  _ hate _ her.” Agatha chokes. “I hate her so much. I know you don’t, but--”

“Oh, no. I  _ loathe _ her, Aggie.” says Sophie into the dark.

“...what?” 

“She’s a mad old harpy and I wish every day she’d get the dosage of that magic wrong and poison herself.”

Agatha turns over to stare at her, mute with shock. She’s  _ never  _ heard Sophie speak like this about Vanessa.  _ Ever.  _

“But… but you--”

“Just because I loathe her doesn’t mean I don’t want her approval.” says Sophie grimly. “Sometimes, when she’s complimenting me, or buying me pretty things, or trying to set me up with Dukes, I almost forget it. I get caught up in it. But then, I can suddenly see your face after that Peace Ball. And I remember it again.”

Agatha knows which Peace Ball she means. Nearly three years ago, they’d hosted a particularly elaborate gathering, with a plethora of dukes and barons sent from the surrounding kingdoms of Ginnymill, Ooty, and Hamelin-- people who never usually came to Gavaldon, and who didn’t know much about the kingdom. 

As such, Agatha had attracted a fair bit more attention than she usually did. The Gavaldon people were bored of her, by now. Sixteen years to speculate with no resolution? It gets old quickly. Agatha was more of a minor interest to people when they were drunk and in the mood to make up elaborate rumours, trying to top the ones that already existed.

But to the people from the outside, she was a mysterious veiled Princess, the daughter of a beautiful mother and a handsome father, entrusted to a stoic nursemaid. 

It made sense that they’d jump to the wrong conclusions. 

So, when the Duke of Ooty had implied a marriage settlement between his son and Agatha, Vanessa had looked at the family-- a graceful mother, a handsome father, and their son, a tall, elegant boy with long black hair and perfect skin-- and burst out laughing.

“Oh, no, my lord! I appreciate the compliment, and so does my daughter, but-- hah, excuse me-- but I must disappoint you. Agatha is already promised to the Prince Tedros of Camelot.”

She’d grinned as she’d said it. Someone nearby Agatha had muttered something disapproving about Vanessa revelling in the Duke’s misstep. 

But Agatha knew better. She wasn’t laughing because they were wasting their time or because the Duke looked foolish. 

She was laughing because it was  _ funny.  _ To her, the idea that Agatha could marry into such a gorgeous family was absurd. 

There’d been some more talk bandied around about Tedros and the marriage settlement-- agreed since Agatha was two, apparently-- but Agatha hadn’t really listened, hot with humiliation and staring at her lap. 

Then it had happened again, this time with the Marquess of Hamelin’s handsome daughter. Same reaction from Vanessa. And again, with the  _ Baron _ of Ooty’s son--

By the end of the night, Vanessa had gleefully rejected four suggestions of engagements, and although Agatha had tried to escape, she’d still had time to turn to her, just as Agatha was standing up--

“Well! They were optimistic, weren’t they?”

It had sounded innocent enough; a reference to her already being betrothed. 

But it wasn’t innocent, and it wasn’t a reference to her already being betrothed. And everyone listening knew it. 

Agatha had gone straight up to her rooms, thrown her veil at her mirror, and shattered the glass with the headpiece, sending Callis and Sophie bursting in, worrying she’d fainted. 

She’d not been aware she’d looked a particular way, and, in all honesty, she’d started using Vanessa’s quote as an inside joke, but it seemed that it had stuck with Sophie. Agatha had only remembered it briefly when she’d met Tedros for the first time, but even then, she’d dismissed it with a sneer.

“Odd thing to remember.” says Agatha, now. “She’s done worse.”

“It was the first time I’d ever seen her actually  _ upset _ you.” says Sophie. “You always argued with her or laughed in her face. It shocked me. You just looked so… crushed.”

“And yet you play her little game anyway.” says Agatha. 

Sophie has the decency to look ashamed.

“I am trying to stop. I’m trying to avoid her. But after chasing her approval for so long… it’s hard.”

Agatha sighs. She’d bring up their argument, but she doesn’t really want to open that wound again. She’s yet to be thoroughly convinced that Sophie is completely disloyal to Vanessa, but this is a very promising suggestion of it.

“Well,” she says. “It might be useful to have you as a spy on the inside, anyway. I don’t trust her to be in charge of the logistics of the wedding.”

“I’ll tell you anything she tells me.” promises Sophie. 

“Mm.” 

Sophie tuts at her. 

“I know you’d rather not think about it, darling, but you have to accept that it’s imminent.”

“Can I worry about the ball, first?”

“Oh, naturally. But it’s only three weeks after the ball.”

“I  _ know.”  _ mutters Agatha.

Sophie grins, suddenly.

“How’s the dancing going?”

Agatha shoots her an irritated glance.

“Tolerably. Tedros is a lot more patient than  _ you  _ ever were, and some of the dances aren’t so different to ones at home _.  _ I still think I’ll step on his feet a few times, but it’ll be… average.”

“And that, naturally, is what you’re happy with.” mutters Sophie. “Well, fine. Ball, and then we panic about the wedding.”

They lie in silence for a while.

“Who are you going to dance with?” asks Agatha, mostly to take her mind off the fact the wedding is in less than a month. “Hort?”

Sophie snorts.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling, I have  _ standards _ .”

“What if he asks  _ you?  _ He likes you.”

“Oh, no he doesn’t.” pooh-poohs Sophie. “He thinks he does, but he keeps mentioning this  _ Ravan,  _ it’s clear he just thinks I’m on a more acceptable social level, even though we  _ all  _ know I’m far above a  _ Lord,  _ really. But Ravan’s probably a peasant or something else grubby and unkempt...”

She yawns. Agatha considers this.

“What if  _ Tedros  _ asked you?”

“As you pointed out, Tedros is  _ your  _ betrothed, and even if he did, Teddy is for admiring from afar, not for dancing or being in close proximity with.”

Agatha props herself on her elbow to look at her, incredulous.

“Did you  _ ever  _ actually like any of these men?”

“Oh no, not really.” Sophie adjusts a curler. “I just felt that  _ pretending _ to would keep Mother off my back. I had a tryst with Belle, the other year--”

“The  _ miller’s daughter?”  _ splutters Agatha. “You kept that quiet!”

“Of course I did, Mother would have had a stroke.” sniffs Sophie. “Besides, I knew about you and  _ Hester  _ and never told anyone--”

“There was nothing between me and Hester.” says Agatha sulkily. 

“Sounds like you wish there had been.”

“It was impractical.” says Agatha. 

“So it  _ wasn’t  _ you two that I saw kissing in that snowstorm--?”

“It was the only time it’d work!” hisses Agatha. “Besides, she  _ actually  _ liked Anadil, she just wanted to make her jealous and--”

“You agreed because you liked her?”

Agatha shrugs, flopping onto her back again.

“Suppose so. Either way, I knew it wouldn’t be a permanent thing. Arranged marriage and all.”

Sophie nods, considering.

“How are you feeling about that?” she asks.

“Terrified.” says Agatha, honestly. Sophie huffs impatiently. 

“Putting the whole veil and magic issue to the side, how do you feel about  _ marrying Tedros?” _

Agatha frowns, uncomfortable.

“What are you, my therapist? It’s horribly awkward and I feel guilty because I’m getting the impression he quite likes--”

She stops, realising what she’s saying.

“He quite likes you? Despite your churlish attitude and complete lack of fashion sense, I think he does have a little crush on you, yes.” drawls Sophie. 

Agatha stares at her, stupefied. 

“Absolutely  _ everyone _ apart from you has noticed.” says Sophie. “Callis, Beatrix, Chaddick… everyone. It’s sweet, really. He’s like a puppy.”

Agatha is still staring. Sophie arches a brow. 

“Surprised it’s taken you so long to work that one out, really. Been suppressing the thought, darling?”

“No,” says Agatha, even though she’s been suppressing the thought. “No, no, I just--”

“Well, lucky Teddy, because you’re betrothed to him and you can’t get out of it, no matter how much you might want to.” says Sophie, grinning.

Agatha rolls onto her back, incredulous. The idea of Tedros actually liking her outside of just being polite to his future wife has been nagging her for a while, but she’s been ignoring it. Her only previous admirers have been Hester (odd taste in girls) and various suitors (all believing she’s veiled because she’s beautiful). This is very new. And very odd. 

“Well,” she says, deciding not to try and decipher how she feels about that right now. “That crush is going to die abruptly on the day we’re married, which feels very poetic--”

She trails off in a yelp as something hits her very hard in the ribs.

“Ow!” she bolts up indignantly, wheeling to Sophie. “Did you just  _ punch me?  _ What are you doing, you’ll burn yourself-- _ ” _

“And if you say that again, I’ll  _ do _ it again.” says Sophie sweetly, trying to get a clear shot at her head. 

“I was  _ joking!”  _ barks Agatha, pushing her hands away.

“No, you weren’t. Be quiet. Stop saying things like that.”

“Sophie--”

“So, what are you going to wear to the ball?”

“Uh--”

“Because I was thinking you should wear red. I saw a red version of your veil and thought it was  _ so  _ chic.” says Sophie, burying herself back under the covers again. “Can you lie back down? You’re letting all the heat out.”

Agatha shakes her head at her for a second, utterly bemused. 

“Um… sure.” she drops back again. “Red sounds good.”

“Doesn’t it?” says Sophie brightly. “And you could have white or gold or even your classic black in the sleeve slits, but personally I think gold is best. It is a  _ celebration  _ after all, even if neither of you asked to be engaged in the first place--”

* * *

“King Tedros.”

Tedros turns to find Callis standing in the doorway, already in her ball finery (which is really only a dove grey, more embellished, version of her usual attire). He’s still in his undershirt and breeches.

“May I speak with you for a minute?” she says.

Beatrix and Chaddick, ironing his ball doublet, glance nervously at one another. 

“Um. Yes, but I’m still only half-ready--” Tedros starts-- 

“It’s not as if you’re going to get cold.” says Callis, unimpressed.

“...true.”

“It shouldn’t take long. Shall we go into your drawing room?”

“...of course.”

Tedros nervously takes the lead into the drawing room. Callis shuts the door behind him and stands against it. Tedros feels distinctly like a hostage. He’s not sure he likes how suddenly Callis can turn from faintly amused to faintly terrifying. 

“Um--”

“How much did you see?” says Callis blackly, eyes boring into him. 

“I… how much did I see of  _ what _ ?”

Tedros desperately racks his brains, trying to work out if he’s been privy to anything gossip-worthy recently. 

“You know what I mean.” says Callis. 

“I’m not sure I--”

Callis leans forwards.

“How much did you see of Agatha’s  _ face,  _ you twit!”

“ _ Oh _ !” Tedros frowns. “Nothing, ma’am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tedros stares incredulously at her. 

“But-- I’m not lying, I didn’t look-- she didn’t want me to see, so I looked away. Either way, she was facing away from me--”

Callis takes a deep breath.

“With all due respect,  _ majesty,  _ I find it incredibly hard to believe that you, who have been trying to find out why she wears the veil for  _ months,  _ wouldn’t have taken the opportunity--”

“Well, believe it, because I didn’t!” argues Tedros. “I might keep asking, but it’s not as if I’m trying to yank it off her or something! I’ll only find out if  _ she  _ tells me! Which she hasn’t!”

Callis purses her lips.

“Did Queen Vanessa tell you anything?”

“No!” cries Tedros, furious. “I don’t  _ like  _ Vanessa, I avoid her, and anything she says is probably a lie anyway!”

He genuinely is telling the truth. He’d only realised Agatha had pulled the veil back when he’d reached her and realised both parts of it were thrown over the back of her headpiece, and he’d immediately looked away.

This revelation about Vanessa seems to mollify Callis, because she sighs, anger leaving her face somewhat. 

“If you saw by accident, I won’t be angry.” she says tiredly. “I just need to know. 

“ _ Callis.”  _ says Tedros emphatically. “I didn’t see anything. I promise.”

Callis pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Alright. Alright.” 

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” mumbles Tedros. 

“You will.” sighs Callis. “Whether you agree or not is another matter.”

Tedros still doesn’t know what to think.

“...I feel like this is a Vanessa problem.” he admits, finally. “Has it got something to do with her?”

“Oh, it’s all to do with her.” sighs Callis. “One way or another.”

She pauses. Tedros gets the impression she’s trying to decide whether to tell him something.

Then Callis adjusts her headpiece, and Tedros catches sight of a flash of brown roots in her harsh black hair.

"Do you dye your hair to match Agatha's?" He asks, before he can stop himself.

Callis glances at him.

"Now, your majesty, how would you be able to tell that?"

Tedros squints at her. He's sure she's noticed his white roots before, because he's caught her looking. But Callis doesn't seem to be wanting an answer. 

"Well." She says. "If her mother doesn't want to have anything in common with her..."

She pauses. 

“I've been in the post since the day she was born." she says finally. "All of the other candidates for nursemaids dropped out after the news."

"...News?"

"That Vanessa was furious. So, of course, we all knew immediately that the baby looked how she'd  _ used _ to look. Dark hair, the like. Several people backed out then and there. Then someone who'd assisted with the birth said the Princess was hot, too hot, they thought she might have a fever. The palace was in chaos, but nothing actually  _ happened _ for hours. More people got cold feet and dropped out. We got no news. No one sent for any of us." Callis purses her lips. "Truth be told, we started to worry the girl had died."

Tedros doesn't say it, but the black note in Callis's voice makes him wonder:

Died or  _ disposed of? _

"There were only about three of us left. I volunteered. Went to the nursery, got most of the way, before I heard people start screaming, and a baby crying. Ran the rest of the way, burst into the nursery, and saw Vanessa in the corner, clutching a screaming maid, and the cradle in flames."

Tedros stares unseeingly at her. It's so similar. Eerily so. 

One born so cold they feared he was dead, one so hot they thought she was dying. One who sent the cradle up in flames and one who turned it to ice so it collapsed in the heat of the room. 

"She'd been left too long." Murmurs Callis. "They'd left her there, whilst Vanessa and Stefan argued, and she'd got her hand around one of the bars. Set it alight and no one noticed until Vanessa returned."

"Was Agatha--"

"Still in it when I got there? Yes. She was."

Callis pushes up her wide sleeves, and Tedros follows the line of scarring, from her palms and fingers all the way up to her elbows.

"That's from--"

"Snatching her out of the cradle while her own mother wailed uselessly in the corner? Yes."

Callis lets her sleeves down again.

"Ran her down the corridor to the doctor and the midwife. We didn't know, then, that Agatha had done it, let alone that she's immune to burns--"

Callis stops. 

"What?" Presses Tedros. 

"Doesn't matter." Says Callis tightly. "I'm saying too much, really. She might not want you to know. But I just thought you should know. The extent of it. "

"Why didn't  _ Vanessa _ do anything?" Tedros asks quietly.

"Well, do you think she would willingly risk her life?"

"I don't know." Mutters Tedros. "But that's her  _ daughter _ ." 

*A very inconvenient daughter." Points out Callis smoothly. "To tell you the truth, Tedros, I rather think she hoped it would finish her off."

They look at one another, for a minute. 

“Why are you telling me this?” asks Tedros, finally. 

“The battle’s not over once you’re married.” says Callis grimly. “In fact, I fear it’ll get worse. Vanessa knows her hold over Agatha and what she does is slipping, and she’ll fight to keep hold of it.”

“Agatha says she’ll send Vanessa home as soon as she’s Queen.”

“Oh, she’ll try, but it’ll be as soon as  _ possible,  _ which is not all that soon. Vanessa will claim she’s helping her  _ settle in,  _ so that’ll be at least another month.”

Tedros groans. 

“ _ Really?” _

“Drag out the  _ marital bliss  _ thing for as long as possible to avoid her.” advises Callis, glancing at the clock. “I should go. She can never do her dress laces herself, she has  _ no  _ sense of how hard you have to pull them--”

She opens the door and Beatrix and Chaddick leap back. 

“Thought so.” she says thinly. “Lucky Beatrix already knew most of that, really.”

She swoops past them without another word, shaking her head.

“You can explain how you know everything to Agatha.” she says. “I’m sure you’d rather face her wrath than mine. See you in the ballroom.”

The door snaps shut.

“I dunno,” says Chaddick weakly. “Callis doesn’t have fire magic.”

“Oh, as if she’d waste it on you.” mutters Tedros, going to fetch his ball clothes. Chaddick kicks him in the backside and sends him stumbling into his wardrobe.

* * *

"The Baron Hamish of Drupathi!" Announces Weatherford, as a tall, lean young man with naturally long, golden hair marches towards them, smiling with perfect teeth set against a perfect complexion. They’re  _ still  _ doing introductions nearly three hours later, and all the faces are just blurring in Tedros’s head. Agatha has been steadily slouching in her throne more and more. Callis keeps kicking the back of it to get her to sit up.

Baron Hamish bows deeply to Tedros. Tedros, too busy envying his natural gold colouring, smiles vaguely at him. 

"Your majesty. I must offer my sincerest congratulations to the both of you." 

"Thank you." Says Tedros distractedly. "And I thank you for coming so far to attend."

"Oh, no, it's no trouble, it's a pleasure…" his eyes flick sideways, and his expression suddenly becomes eager. "Of course, I must pay my respects to your Princess."

Agatha silently extends her hand to him, and he takes it too quickly, bowing too deeply considering Tedros is of a higher rank than Agatha, and talking too informally, considering they've never met before.

"Your highness,  _ such _ an honour. I've waited so long to meet you. Such a beautiful gown for a beautiful lady."

Tedros, who has slowly been learning to read Agatha's body language, sees the embarrassed, confused tension slide across her shoulders. She plucks at her skirts.

"Thank you, Baron." She says awkwardly. "You're very kind."

"Not so, my lady. Merely truthful." He smiles winningly, and bends down to kiss her ring-- the one  _ Tedros  _ had sent her, as a token-- lingering slightly too long. 

"I must ask, my lady…" he says, ignoring Tedros glaring at the side of his head, "Why the veil? It's the subject of so much speculation… to hear it from you would surely put an end to it. There are thousands of loyal subjects who would love to see your face…"

Tedros, lost in a daydream of ripping all the Baron's stupid, beautiful hair out of his stupid, beautiful head, nearly jumps at how suddenly Agatha responds, and notices he's frozen the inside of his gloves. 

"Noble as that was, Baron, I must decline." Says Agatha, immediately. "My reasons are mine and mine alone."

Not that Tedros thought they were.  _ Vanessa's and Vanessa's alone  _ was more like it.

Tedros suppresses a scowl, trying to unfreeze his gloves. 

"Of course." Says Baron Hamish, looking rather disappointed. "Of course. Well then, I bid you adieu, my lady. Good evening, King Tedros."

He bows and disappears back into the crowd. 

"So he believed that one, did he?" Murmurs Agatha, watching him go. Tedros stares at her, finally vanishing the ice in his gloves.

"Which one?"

Agatha turns towards him.

"What?"

"What did he believe?" 

"Oh." Agatha hunches a little. "Doesn't matter."

"Not a conspiracist or something, is he?" Presses Tedros.

Agatha takes a breath--

Tedros notices that the crowd of nobles has finally dispersed, and Vanessa has started to advance towards them.

"Let's go dance." Tedros says abruptly. Callis nods approvingly at him from beside Agatha’s throne. 

“Do we  _ have  _ to?” says Agatha reluctantly.

“It’ll look bad if we don’t. It’s just a waltz, come on--”

Agatha follows his gaze, sees her mother fighting through the crowd, and is immediately accepting his hand up.

“Suddenly, I feel like dancing after all.” she says dryly. 

"Damn woman." Tedros growls, making pace towards the dancefloor, people parting for them. "Won't leave us alone for a  _ minute-- _ "

He turns, wondering if Vanessa has followed them--

Only to see her waylaid by an-even-more-charming Baron Hamish, who's new tactic seems to be winning the favour of Agatha's mother.

"I like him more now." Says Agatha, watching as he leads Vanessa away to the opposite end of the dance floor. 

"I don't." Mutters Tedros, pulling her into hold, just close enough to the centre of the floor for it to look proper, but far away enough from both the crowd and other couples to mean they can talk without being overheard. Hopefully if he does a good enough job of looking enamoured, people will give them a wide berth anyway. 

" _ Now _ will you tell me what he meant?" he asks.

Agatha huffs, making her veil flutter, but doesn't answer. Tedros waits, carefully guiding her through the steps. She’s doing a good impression of being distracted by doing the dance properly, but he’s not fooled. He knows she’s managed to get this one down pretty well. 

Agatha seems to notice he’s anticipating an answer, and sighs.

"You basically already know.” She tells him finally. “There’s two main theories about the veil at home, and they appear to have followed me here. They think I don't know them, but I do. He clearly believed the second one."

"What are they?" Tedros pulls her closer, watching two women shuffling towards them, clearly interested.

Agatha slightly stumbles over a step, but recovers herself quickly.

"The first one is that I wear it because I'm horribly ugly, hellishly so.” she says sardonically. “So I won't show you my face before the wedding, because you'd call it off if you knew what your lovely new wife looked like, and I want your good looks and money."

"Oh." says Tedros, surprised she doesn't seem more upset. 

"I don't want your money or your abs, by the way."

"...Okay."

"Just thought I'd clear that up." 

"Right. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"What's the second one?" 

Agatha grips his shoulder slightly tighter, clearly looking away from him.

"...That I'm so beautiful I have to veil myself, lest people try to kidnap me. And I will continue to do so until I'm married to you, from which point you're responsible for me, and it's not mother's problem that everyone might try to kidnap me anymore." 

"...ah."

"Fun speculation, right?" Says Agatha dully.

"So he believed that one?"

"Seems that way." 

A pause. Tedros glances over at the musicians. 

“They’re going to change to a Minuet. Think you can handle it?”

“...I think so.” 

“More opportunity to talk.” points out Tedros.

“What’s there to discuss?” grouches Agatha as they take their places. “I’ve told you.”

“And I was going to tell  _ you  _ that that’s not what I thought.”

“You thought I used appearance magic.” says Agatha, unimpressed. “So clearly you either think it went wrong or worked.”

“...no.” says Tedros. 

“Mm.” Agatha is pulled away by the dance, and Tedros quietly watches her skirts fan out as she turns, wishing he hadn’t told her that. Truthfully, he doesn’t know  _ what  _ he believes, not after Callis’s confrontation. 

She’s back soon enough though, and he grabs her hands--

“I like your dress,” he says, briefly catching a piece of her skirt in his fingers. “Red suits your complexion.”

He’s not lying-- it looks good on her. A gown of red velvet, sleeves and skirt slit to expose gold silk beneath, jewels on her neckline, headdress and around her throat. Her gloves and veil are matching scarlet silk, and she’s wearing the dragon ring he’d sent her on her right index finger. 

“Sophie was mostly the mastermind behind it.” admits Agatha, but Tedros doesn’t miss how her shoulders come back a little bit, and she stands up a little straighter. 

He smiles at her, and he hopes she smiles back.

* * *

“Let’s go outside.” offers Tedros, later. The hall is quickly becoming oppressive, most people are drunk, and Callis has been watching him from beside a tapestry for the better part of an hour. 

“Is this about Callis?” snorts Agatha. “She’s not going to actually confront you.”

“Um.” says Tedros, thinking of his interrogation earlier. “No. It’s just too loud.”

“Won’t they miss us?”

“I don’t think so.” sighs Tedros, watching Duchess Linton high-kick on a table. “Besides, it’s our engagement party. They’re practically expecting us to sneak off.”

“Fair enough.”

They emerge onto a veranda, where a young couple appear to be breaking up, and quickly take the right-hand stairs down into the snowy gardens, hoping not to be noticed. Luckily, the break-up seems to be absorbing all the attention, and most people seem to be avoiding the gardens, since there’s a biting wind lashing through the trees.

“We’re very… obvious.” says Agatha, eyeing their matching scarlet outfits, stark against the snow. Tedros grimaces, casting around for some shelter--

“We’ll go down here.” he says, ushering her down the conifer walkway-- tall enough to mean any view of them will be obscured from the ballroom. “Here--”

He stops in front of a stone bench, strips off one of his gloves, and carefully vanishes the layer of snow that’s settled on it. 

“Very slick.” says Agatha, amused.

“I try.” says Tedros, indicating she should sit down. She does, and he sits next to her, crunching snow under his boots--

“It is  _ kind _ of about Callis.” he blurts.

Agatha snorts in disbelief.

“She’s a mean shot with a crossbow, but she’s not going to try and  _ kill  _ you--”

“She came to see me before the ball.” says Tedros, watching her out of the corner of her eye. 

“Oh, did she?” groans Agatha. She tips her head back, revealing the outline of her nose and chin as her veil settles against her face. “What did she say?”

Tedros stares at her for a moment.

“...Hm?”

“What did she say to you?” asks Agatha, leaning forward, her face becoming indistinct again. 

“Oh.” Tedros hesitates, suddenly realising he probably shouldn’t be telling her this. “Um, she kind of… interrogated me, and demanded to know if I--”

“If you saw my face.” deduces Agatha, suddenly sitting up straight. She’s not looking at him, he can tell.

“...yes.” admits Tedros. “She didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t.”

Agatha remains silent.

Tedros looks at her.

“...  _ you  _ believe me, don’t you?”

A pause.

“...yes.” says Agatha, but she’s clearly lying. Tedros looks helplessly at her. 

“Why does everyone think--” he cuts himself off. “Agatha, I wouldn’t lie.”

No response.

“I _wouldn’t!”_ insists Tedros, grabbing her hand, trying to get her to face him. “I might be desperate to know what’s going on, but if I _had_ seen, I’d have admitted it--”

“I did think you probably weren’t a good enough liar to pull it off.” murmurs Agatha. “But I wasn’t sure.”

She sounds faintly relieved. 

Tedros sags, glad she believes him--

“She was gone for too long, though.” says Agatha contemplatively. “Did she tell you something else?”

“Um, no.” says Tedros, a little too quickly. 

Agatha’s head snaps towards him. 

“What did she say?”

“Just… warned me about Vanessa, and things--”

“This is exactly what I meant.” Agatha stabs a red-gloved finger at him. “You can’t lie.  _ Tell  _ me--”

Tedros, panicking, tries to work out how to phrase it--

“Well...” he says weakly. “It’s funny, because I was struck by how similar your birth was to mine-- what’s the matter?”

For Agatha has gone still.

“She told you about… my birth?”

Tedros frowns, wondering if this is a sore spot, but he knows he’s too far in to back out, now. 

“She… told me that you set the cradle on fire and Vanessa didn’t save you. And Callis pulled you out herself. Showed me the scars on her arms.”

“That was it?” asks Agatha tightly. 

“Um, and that they thought you might be feverish when you were born. And that Vanessa was kind of furious…” he searches for any more details. “No, that’s it. I was just thinking how funny it was, because when  _ I  _ was born, they actually thought I was dead for about ten seconds because I was so cold, until I started crying. And then I managed to turn the cradle to ice overnight, but the fire melted it and it shattered. Scared the life out of my poor mother.”

Agatha is still looking at him.

“That’s all she told you?”

Tedros shrugs awkwardly. 

“Yeah. Not much, I know. Not sure why she told me it, apart from to make me hate Vanessa even more. But that was nothing new. Still, it’s kind of shocking.”

The tension in Agatha’s shoulders is gone, somewhat.

“Well,” she says, after a minute. “It’s not really surprising.”

“But it’s  _ terrible.”  _ says Tedros, bewildered that she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Agatha shrugs.

“I’ve never thought of her as a mother. She’s just like a particularly hateful headmistress.” She taps her necklace thoughtfully, gazing at him. “You turned an  _ entire  _ cradle to ice as a newborn?”

“I had about 10 hours to do it.” points out Tedros. 

“True.” Agatha pauses. “Did you get hurt?”

Tedros shakes his head. 

“Absolutely  _ screamed _ , but no, somehow. They said I was really lucky to not have been cut by any of the collapsed cradle.”

“Yeah.” murmurs Agatha. “Really lucky.”

They sit in silence for a while. He’s got no idea what Agatha is thinking about, but  _ he’s _ thinking about Vanessa.

“I’ll get rid of your mother.” he proclaims, finally. “I’ll remove the court to Tintagel, or I’ll… take you on holiday, or something. Or maybe I’ll  _ suggest  _ she ought to return to her kingdom, or someone from your court can make up a fake diplomatic emergency, or--”

But Agatha is shaking her head.

“It’s very sweet, Tedros, but it won’t work. You  _ know  _ we can’t go anywhere alone, and she does nothing about diplomacy anyway. She probably hasn’t read a bill in about thirty years. She’ll only go home if she wants to, or if etiquette demands she should, and there’s so much to do after the wedding that she’ll probably be here for at least another month.”

Tedros stares helplessly up at the lights of the castle.    
“Callis said the same thing, but… I can’t stand her being around.”

“You get used to it.” says Agatha blandly.

Tedros doesn’t respond, still desperately trying to think of a way out--

A snowball hits him in the back of the head and knocks his crown off.

Tedros turns an unamused gaze on Agatha, retrieving his crown from a bush.

“You’re  _ really  _ going to try and use my own element against me?”

“Stop brooding.” says Agatha calmly, brushing snow off her gloves. “She’s not some malevolent fairy, she’s just a pain.”

“You--” Tedros decides he’s not going to win an argument about Agatha’s own mother against her, and gives up for today. Then his face clears. “...Fine. If you want to play like that, we can play like that--”

Agatha looks at him.

Tedros takes his gloves off. 

Agatha leaps up, trying to yank hers off--

“No, no-- hey, you can’t do that, that’s practically a snowdrift, that’s not fair-- play  _ fair _ \--”

She shrieks and shatters it in mid-air with a burst of flame as Tedros throws it at her head.

For a minute, they just stare at each other.

“I think we invented a new game.” says Tedros. 

“Oh, you’re gonna  _ lose--”  _ Agatha casts around for pockets, finds she has none, and shoves her gloves down her bodice. She ignores Tedros’s raised eyebrows as she goes running over to steal flames from a nearby brazier, and is just in time to shatter his next attempt.

From a balcony on East Tower, Weatherford and Vanessa watch them sparring. 

Weatherford looks worried. 

Vanessa doesn’t. 

She looks furious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels very snippet-y but I like the scene with agatha and sophie a lot lmao so there's that! damn tedros really came SO close but he still hasn't got it hh  
> (p much guaranteed he really won't know til the wedding now, huh)  
> (wedding prep for the next few chapters)  
> (and then... w e d d i n g)


	17. the painting

“You look,” Emma Anemone says sternly, “Like a giraffe.”

Beatrix, standing nearby, puts her head in her hands. 

Agatha stares back at this crazed canary-yellow lady, uncertain whether to laugh or not. Anemone, Seamstress by Appointment to the Royal Family, has apparently been sent to help with wedding dresses, and Agatha is somewhat apprehensive. She’s very hard on the eyes. Agatha has never seen so much yellow before-- even her  _ eyeliner  _ is yellow. Sending someone so colourful to design her a dress feels like something of a misstep.

“Um, I’m… sorry?” she hazards, wondering how one should respond to being compared to a giraffe. At least Anemone had said nothing about her face-- she’d shot her a cursory glance and nothing more.

The seamstress sighs and whips a tape measure from her pocket. 

“Suppose it can’t be helped. Genetics. Stand up straight for me, dear-- no,  _ straight--” _

Agatha pushes her shoulders back, grimacing as Anemone snags the tape measure around her waist.

“So, what are you thinking?” she asks. “Tulle? Silk? Cashmere? Chiffon? Are you wearing white or something a little more  _ avant garde?  _ Slits for another colour to peek through? Crinoline? Train? Sash? How about jewellery?”

Agatha stares helplessly at her. 

“Well…er, I just thought I’d…”

She hasn’t thought about it at all, to be honest. She doesn’t know the first thing about fashion, she just wears whatever she’s given, so to suddenly be given free rein over a dress literally  _ everyone  _ is going to see is… highly alarming. 

Anemone can clearly tell she has absolutely no plans. 

“What kind of a bride are you?” she demands, measuring between her shoulders. “Not even thought about it? I’d have thought any girl would have been absolutely  _ dying  _ to marry Tedros. Hasn’t the marriage been settled for years?”

“Um, yeah, it’s not like I object to the  _ wedding  _ bit-- well, I mean, It’s an arranged marriage, but…I mean...”

Agatha pauses, staring at her feet.

“I don’t know  _ what  _ I mean.”

“He’s finally got to you.” says Beatrix, examining sample dresses in the corner. “Knew it’d happen eventually. It’s the earnestness, isn’t it--”

“He  _ hasn’t.”  _ snaps Agatha. “It’s just not  _ him  _ I object to.”

“It’s fashion in general, apparently.” murmurs Anemone, staring at Agatha’s battered work boots. Agatha sighs.

“Listen, can I just wear something normal? Like, nice. But normal--”

A new voice cuts in.

“Our courts have agreed that your dress is to encompass the fashions of both kingdoms, to symbolise the union of Camelot and Gavaldon.”

Agatha closes her eyes briefly. 

“And Tedros and I were both included in that decision, I presume?” she asks icily, turning to watch Vanessa enter the room. Dot and Beatrix exchange apprehensive glances. 

Vanessa shoots her the disdainful glance she always gives her when she’s unveiled and turns to Anemone, holding out a sheaf of drawings. 

“The King’s ladies have provided some sketches. Myself and my maids have altered them to better fit our fashions.”

“I see.” says Anemone, shifting through the sketches. “And these were approved by…?”

“Weatherford and the King himself both said they liked them.” says Vanessa smoothly. “The King seemed very… enthusiastic about being involved in proceedings.”

She shoots Agatha another glance, which Agatha ignores. Shouldn’t have killed off her  _ own _ handsome husband, now should she?

Anemone finishes flicking through them. 

“Well, I certainly could make them. What do you think, Princess?”

She hands them up to Agatha.

Agatha, surprised to be given input, sees Vanessa’s face sour and knows it wasn’t her intention. Frowning, she takes them--

Immediately, she knows this was made with the intention of embarrassing her, not flattering her. 

Low-cut, figure-hugging white silk with a heavy, wide skirt and excessive train, gold sash cinched in to exaggerate the waistline, dripping with diamonds… it was something Sophie or Vanessa herself would wear, not Agatha. The only real homage it had to Gavaldon was the swan crest stitched into the embroidery and the wide sleeves. The rest screamed Camelot. 

“It’s very… elaborate.” she says. 

Vanessa smiles.

“It is, isn’t it? Well, we’ve got a prototype, if you want to try it on, see what alterations are needed--”

Agatha tenses, but it’s too late-- Vanessa is already snapping her fingers at Beatrix and Dot and pointing them over to a bag she’d brought in with her. 

“Why don’t we try now?” she suggests.

* * *

Ten minutes later Agatha wrings her hands, hating how surrounded by mirrors she is. She can see her own ruined face from three or so angles, even though she’s very deliberately looking at her feet. 

“There!” says Vanessa. “Isn’t that nice?”

It’s not. Agatha risks a tiny look at herself and immediately winces. It’s exactly as she thought it’d be-- too low, too tight. It exaggerates how skinny she is, how pale. It makes her elbows stick out and exaggerates her complete lack of chest. The white is  _ too  _ white, and makes her skin look sickly pale. 

She turns to look at Vanessa, who smiles innocently at her. 

“I’ll try a few others before I make any decisions.” Agatha says coldly, not missing how Vanessa crushes a scowl. 

“Of course.” her mother says blandly. “Well, call me if you find something else you like! But, personally, I  _ love  _ that one.”

“Do you.” says Agatha blankly. Vanessa ignores her, already swishing over to the door and disappearing. 

“I don’t know what she’s playing at, but Tedros didn’t agree.” says Dot, the instant Vanessa is gone. “He said it was nice, but he didn’t think you’d want to wear it. They more or less ignored him.”

“He was right.” says Agatha flatly, glancing back at her reflection again. Three tired, pinched Agathas in an unflattering dress look glumly back at her. They all cross their spindly arms across their too-exposed chests. They all scowl and look away. 

“She’s going to push for that one.” says Anemone, her first contribution for a good half-hour. “The other samples aren’t even half as ready as that.”

Agatha clenches her teeth, dismayed to find tears threatening at the back of her throat, pricking at her nose.

“I may not care much about fashion.” she mumbles. “But I’d rather have  _ something _ pretty at the wedding.”

There’s a pause. Agatha can see Anemone looking at her in the mirror. 

“Go and get the other samples, please, ladies.” says Anemone. “I can fix this.”

Dot frowns. 

“You said they weren’t--”

“Now, if you please!”

Agatha’s maids exchange glances, shrug, and go to do as they’re told. 

Anemone steps up to the stool and busily starts making new measurements. Agatha sags, tired and defeated. She’s spent the last few days doing nothing but trying not to think about the wedding, and now she’s so violently confronted with it, she just wants to crawl into bed and hide for the rest of her life.

“You know, dear, I personally find myself rather fond of giraffes.” says Anemone gently, tucking the tape measure away and starting to unlace the sides. “Gentle creatures.”

“It’s fine, it’s true...” sighs Agatha, slipping her arms out of the sleeves. But Anemone is still going; 

“I’m sure you’ll grow into your height. Princess Eva of Maidenvale was  _ just  _ as tall as you, maybe even taller, and by the time she was 25, everyone envied her husband so badly he was poisoned twice in quick succession.”

“...right.” says Agatha. “But I’m 18, not 25. And the wedding is in three weeks.”

“Bah!” Anemone dismisses. “I can work wonders. Take the Marchioness of Drupathi! A  _ tiny  _ little thing, skinny and short, and her husband fell at her  _ feet  _ at the altar, ugh, it was  _ such  _ a moment.”

“Um, I don’t think--”

“The Duchess of Kingdom Kyrigos!” booms Anemone. “She designed her own dress, and it was a  _ travesty  _ until I got my hands on it and re-worked the entire thing so subtly she barely noticed it wasn’t the dress she originally designed, and her husband was all over her supposed talent. It’s  _ all  _ about the subtleties. The Queen of Ginnymill! Plainest girl I ever clapped eyes on, wore such a stunning dress that  _ three  _ people fainted and her wife had to be held up by her father.”

“Listen, I really don’t think this is going to apply to--

“And all of  _ their  _ betrothed didn’t already have a desperate one-sided crush on  _ them _ .” mutters Anemone.

Agatha turns around to glare at her. Anemone smiles sweetly.

“I make clothes for Tedros  _ all the time.  _ I’ve heard ever so much about you.”

Agatha whips back around, aware Anemone will still be able to see her going red in the mirrors.

“This is ridiculous. You’re deliberately missing the point.”

“No,  _ you  _ are.” says Anemone, sweeping the dress away as Agatha steps out of it and immediately ripping a panel right out. “Is stitching a cheeky flame motif into the underskirts too obvious?” she asks thoughtfully.

Agatha sighs. Clearly Beatrix and Dot aren't the only staff who've been briefed about her.

“...no.”

“Oh, good,” says Anemone, “Because I already embroidered a sneaky snowflake onto Tedros’s doublet. Spot it and I’ll give you three gold pieces. I bet you won’t, though, his face is so much more interesting...”

Agatha can’t help but grin. 

* * *

“How was Anemone?” asked Callis immediately. Agatha looks suspiciously at her, stripping her veil off. 

“Fine. Why?”

“No tall orders?” asks Callis innocently. Agatha looks at her for a second--

“Oh, ha ha.” she flops onto the sofa next to her. “You already spoke to her, huh?”

Callis is clearly fighting laughter.

“I didn’t expect her to be quite so upfront. She cornered me in the servant’s corridors after dinner last night and asked how tall you were, how much you weighed, that sort of thing… she was definitely annoyed about your height.” She looks sideways at her. “You weren’t upset, were you?”

Agatha looks at her, unimpressed.

“I was not. However, since you now seem to find it so  _ funny-- _ ”

Callis finally gives up on trying not to look amused.

“Beatrix said you looked so  _ confused.” _

“I was! There was this strange yellow woman I’ve never met before suddenly in my face, calling me a giraffe!”

Callis bursts out laughing and grabs her wrists.

“Aww, a giraffe, aww-- you’ve got spindly little limbs just like one, I like giraffes--”

Keeping a straight face becomes painful, so Agatha gives up and, laughing, tries to bat Callis away--

“No, Mom! No-- ow--”

Agatha leans back and they both fall off the sofa into a heap on the rug. Spitting out her hair, Agatha sits up, still grinning-- 

Callis is looking at her oddly. 

“What?” says Agatha. 

Callis blinks a few times. 

“Hm? Oh. Nothing.” she pauses. “I spoke to Tedros before the ball.”

Agatha’s eyes narrow immediately. 

“So he said.” 

She can’t find it in her to be annoyed at Callis, but she dislikes how close she’d skimmed to telling him everything.

Callis holds up her hands, as if she’s reading her mind. 

“I know you think I came too close. You’re probably right. But we both know he didn’t guess, and I think it’s well and truly scared him away from Vanessa.”

“He’s never liked her.”

“I know. But I get the impression…” she pauses for a minute. “I think Vanessa is trying to stop you getting too close.”

Agatha frowns.

“Today, she said Tedros approved of that vile dress, but Beatrix and Dot told me otherwise. you think she was lying to try and make me angry at him?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” says Callis grimly. “She definitely suspects that you know each other’s powers. She probably knows, to be honest. The idea of you two being a team, rather than being opposed... “ she shrugs. “Well, she doesn’t want to look like the bad guy to two teenagers with magic.”

“She already does.” snorts Agatha. 

“And she hates it.” says Callis, standing. “Look out for some trouble in the next few days, I think. Shall we go for dinner? I was in the kitchens earlier and it looked to be some kind of fancy pasta.”

Agatha springs to her feet so fast she accidentally kicks her veil across the room. 

* * *

Callis is right, and not only about the pasta. 

Agatha wakes up to Sophie shaking her. 

“Sophie?” she sits up immediately. “What’s wrong--”

Sophie looks wild, panicked, and she’s clearly not even been to bed. 

“Mother… I just came back from tea with her…”

“What’d she say?” demands Agatha, grabbing Sophie’s sleeve. Whatever it is, it’s not good.

Sophie is almost crying.

“Aggie, there’s a painting… she’s had a painting commissioned…”

She stops, looking desperately around. 

“What? Of her?” scoffs Agatha. “What’s this got to do with me--”

“A painting of  _ you.” _

Agatha goes completely still. 

“...what?”

Sophie bursts into tears, properly this time.

“She secretly commissioned a portrait of you, unveiled, she’s…” she gulps. “She’s going to anonymously send it to Tedros. Tomorrow morning. She wants to scare him into backing out-- oh, Aggie, I’m so sorry, she’s such a _bitch--_ ”

For a second, Agatha has a wild impulse to let Vanessa do it. She  _ knows  _ Tedros won’t react the way Vanessa wants.  _ How  _ he’ll react is impossible to know, but it certainly won’t endear Vanessa to him any better. He’ll know it was from her. He’d overheard her being cruel, he knows only very few people know what she looks like…

But the idea of Tedros knowing at Vanessa’s hands-- via what is probably a heavily exaggerated portrait-- makes her feel violently ill.

She puts her hand over her mouth for a minute, trying to calm the sudden impulse to throw up. Sophie is staring desperately at her. 

“I thought… if we stole it and destroyed it… tonight… Agatha, are you okay?”

Agatha puts her head on her knees for a few seconds, biting her tongue. 

Then she looks up. 

“Where is it?”

* * *

Agatha had been expecting a miniature.

“How are we going to get this out quietly?” she hisses, leaning against the windowsill and looking out of the open windows at the clear night outside. She tries to look casual, but she’s sure Sophie knows she’s trying to avoid looking at the subject of the portrait. “It’s a  _ full _ painting.”

Sophie frowns. 

“I thought we’d just… take it back to our rooms? And then we could break it.”

Agatha grimaces.

“But if someone sees us carrying it…”

Sophie purses her lips, following Agatha’s gaze out of the window as she tries to think. 

“We could cover it with something?” she offers. “One of those blankets on the sofa?”

“She’d notice anything missing.” murmurs Agatha. “Where  _ is  _ she, anyway?”

“She was playing cards with her maids, but I don’t think we’ve got--”

Footsteps echo down the hall, and suddenly both of them can hear an overly familiar voice.

“...long.” Sophie finishes softly. 

Agatha swears and seizes the painting, hoisting it into her arms and casting desperately around for anything that can help them, but she can’t see anything. If Vanessa catches them, Agatha knows whatever she tries next will be worse, and won’t allow time for them to thwart her. 

Backing nervously against the window, she turns to Sophie, whose face has suddenly gone grim--

Sophie’s hands catch her in the chest just as the door’s handle twists.

Too startled to even scream, Agatha is knocked back over the windowsill and falls six feet, landing hard on her front in a snowdrift. The painting’s frame cracks her hard on the back as it lands next to her. 

Gasping, she struggles to lift her head--

“Oh, Mother, I was looking for you--!”

She hears something slam from above her and realises Sophie has shut the window. She’ll probably draw the curtains, too…

Swearing as quietly as she can, she peels herself out of the snowdrift and tumbles to the bottom of the pile, twisting her ankle and jarring her hip as the snow she lands on crumbles beneath her. Both her nightdress and the cloak she’d thrown over it are soaked, as is her veil, and there’s snow in her boots.

Teeth clenched, Agatha limps to her feet and drags the portrait out of the snowdrift, certain it will be ruined by now--

But it’s not. Her own face, sullen and scarred, stares back at her, the canvas only somewhat scraped and a little damp. It’s not even an exaggerated portrayal. It’s almost perfect. Clearly Vanessa hadn’t seen the need to make her look any worse. 

Agatha stares blankly at it for a minute, feeling her wet veil sticking to her nose and the back of her neck... 

Then she’s running, sprinting into the dark palace grounds, staggering on her twisted ankle and dragging the painting behind her. She plunges into a copse of trees near the river, bashing the painting into rocks and shrubs and heaving it through mud. She runs until she’s sure she’s obscured from anyone looking from the palace, and then she stops, heaving for breath-- 

With a stifled scream, Agatha throws the painting face-down into the snow and stamps a hole through the canvas. Then another, and another, until the entire thing is a mangled mess and she’s no longer able to make out her own face. Shaking, she extracts her foot from the canvas and tears her gloves off. It’s night, there’s no sun to help her, no brazier to steal flames from, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t  _ matter. _

Agatha slashes her hand through the air and her magic bows to her will. Light shoots through her veins and, without her even needing to touch it, the painting erupts into flames.

Agatha watches it burn, teeth bared and blood hot. 

She will not bow to Vanessa any longer. Agatha has set her own term--  _ not until the wedding _ \-- and she will not deviate from it. Once the veil is off at the wedding, she will never put it back on, never, never,  _ never _ \--

Unless... 

Agatha stills, considering.

It could be useful. 

As a negotiator, as a politician. With the veil, she is inscrutable, unreadable, unsettling. There will be no reason for her to continue wearing the veil, since the press sketches from the wedding will be flung to every corner of the Woods, and yet she wears it still… people will realise she’s weaponizing it, very quickly.

And when asked about it, she can give them a lovely reminder of her mother’s insistence on it. 

Poor Princess Agatha. 

Agatha’s snarl slowly turns to a grin. Tedros had been hopeful that she’d be able to help him politically. At the time, she’d been doubtful… but now, she thinks she might be more useful than she’d thought. 

But...Tedros.

With the thought, all of her fury and spite starts to fade. She sags. 

Can’t be a political asset to your husband if your husband wants nothing to do with you, once he’s seen your face. 

The roaring in her head quietens, and Agatha sinks down to sit in the snow, ignoring how it soaks her dress. Her ankle hurts, now. And her hip. She wants to go back in, but she’ll wait until the painting is completely unrecognisable--

“Agatha, what are you  _ doing _ ?”

Agatha whirls to find Callis standing by one of the trees, staring at her makeshift bonfire with bewilderment.

With the sight of her nursemaid standing there, Agatha is well and truly snapped back to the present-- the present of hateful mothers and weddings and--

Agatha buries her head in her arms and bursts into tears.

* * *

“He couldn’t see.” babbles Agatha desperately, stumping along on her twisted ankle as Callis hauls her back along the corridor to her rooms. “He couldn’t find out like that, I didn’t want…”

“I know, I know.” Says Callis urgently, ushering her past the royal suites. “Shush now, sweetheart--”

Agatha clamps her mouth shut, praying they’ve not altered anyone to their presence, but the palace is silent. Most of the east wing is unoccupied, besides Tedros’s floor that they’ve just passed and their accommodation on the other side, so they’re probably fine.

“Sophie got away fine,” Callis says, ushering her back into her sitting room, shutting the door tightly, and guiding Agatha back onto the sofa. “She told me to go and look for you, follow your tracks and help you dispose of the godforsaken thing if necessary. She spun Vanessa some yarn about looking for her about a dress and Vanessa believed her, as far as I can tell. Then she ran off to do something else, I don’t know what… Vanessa knows the painting is missing, though, so it won’t be long before she realises you got rid of it.”

Agatha grimaces as Callis pulls the boot off her bad foot and probes the ankle.

“Just sprained.” she says after a brief examination. “You’ll limp a bit, but it’ll be alright in a few days. I’ll go and get you a cold compress, put your foot up there. And take your veil off, it’s soaked--”

She disappears and Agatha does as she’s told, too exhausted to even bother arguing about Callis making a fuss over nothing in particular. The sudden burst of magic had taken more out of her than she’d thought. 

Callis soon returns, though, and sits by Agatha’s feet, holding the compress despite Agatha’s insistence that she could do it herself (“no, if you hold it it’ll only heat up”). They don’t talk. Agatha supposes there’s not much to discuss. The painting is destroyed.

The clock strikes four. Agatha wrings out her wet veil. 

“Earlier,” says Callis suddenly, “Do you remember…”

She trails off. Agatha looks blankly at her.

“Remember what?”

Callis hesitates.

“...never mind.” she shakes her head and turns back to Agatha’s ankle. “It doesn’t matter.”

Agatha frowns. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll tell you later.” dismisses Callis.

Agatha shrugs tiredly and sits back, listening to the clock tick and watching the flames in the fireplace sink lower and lower in the grate.

* * *

She must fall asleep at some point, because she wakes up in bed. 

Grimacing at the idea of Callis carrying her-- Callis is still a little taller than her, and much stronger, but Agatha is still  _ heavy _ \-- she lies awake for a while as the light from the sunrise slowly creeps across the room, contemplating the night, working back through the conversation with Callis. She’s yet to see Sophie, but if she’d sent Callis to follow her tracks…

_ Her tracks! _

Horrified, Agatha bolts upright. They would lead Vanessa-- and anyone else-- right to the burnt painting. And if they followed them back, they’d find the intent in the snowdrift. At worst, they’d assume a conspiracy.

At best, Vanessa would put two and two together.

Heart in her mouth, Agatha tumbles out of bed and lunges to the window, looking for the telltale drag marks, or her footprints, or Callis’s, because they’d be perfectly visible from this window, and--

But they’re not there.

Agatha blinks. It hasn’t snowed in the night, because the thin layer on her windowsill hasn’t grown, and patches of grass are visible, but…

She flings open her bedroom door and rushes to look out of the sitting room windows. Same thing. No tracks. 

Befuddled, she leans back against the table, trying to work out if she’d dreamed the entire thing--

Something crumples under her hand. A note. 

She snatches it up.

_ Fixed it. _

It’s not signed, but it doesn’t have to be. The dragon crest in the corner tells her whose desk it’s from. 

Because it hasn’t snowed, but her tracks are gone. 

_ She ran off to do something else, I don’t know what… _

Callis might not have known what Sophie was doing, but Agatha knows. Chaddick was on duty last night. He’d have let her in. 

Heartbeat slowing, Agatha crushes the note in her hand and sets light to it. Once it’s ash, she returns to her bedroom and wipes it across a sheet of her own paper, smearing grey across the paper. She’ll slip it to him tomorrow, at breakfast, to let him know she got his message. She would wager that, if she went down to the site of the fire, there’d be no trace, not even a charred piece of frame. 

He’s getting better.

Heart swelling, Agatha returns to bed, trying not to smile. She’d wager he didn’t even ask any questions. Sophie will have been evasive enough to keep him from knowing the exact problem with it, and he’ll have run off anyway. 

He’d been right. They  _ do _ make a good team. There’s no evidence left for Vanessa to confront Agatha with, even if she’s  _ certain  _ it was her. Besides, even if she  _ did  _ confront Agatha, she’d have to admit to secretly commissioning a painting…

Agatha grins, tucking her note into her pocket. 

Yes, there’s still the issue with Tedros.

But for now, at least, he’s hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this plot point like three days ago originally this chapter was just gonna be wedding prep and stuff but I like it a LOT more now, it's one of my favourites so far (still doesn't beat the tournament but). lmk what you thought!! :)


	18. with this ring

Agatha had been first made aware of her betrothal when she was seven. 

Vanessa had mentioned it to the visiting Queen Jacinda of Jaunt Jolie, a very satisfied smile on her face, whilst Agatha had been in earshot. Though she’d not been asked her thoughts on the matter, she’d heard her name, and later, she’d asked Callis about it. 

“Who’s Tedros?” she’d asked as Callis walked her back to her rooms that night. Her nursemaid had looked down at her, eyebrows raised.

“He’s the Prince of Camelot, sweetheart.” she’d stopped in front of the map on the fourth floor and pointed the huge coastal kingdom out to Agatha. 

“How old is he?” asked Agatha, with only the preoccupations of a seven-year-old in mind. 

“Six, I believe.”

Agatha wrinkled her nose. Younger than her  _ and  _ a boy. Two strikes against him immediately.

“Mother said he was my…” she paused, struggling over the unfamiliar word. 

“Betrothed.” supplied Callis, opening the door to the sitting room.

“That.” nodded Agatha. 

“Big word, that one.” said Callis. She’d spelled it out for her-- Callis never missed the opportunity to teach her something-- and Agatha had frowned at it. 

“What does it mean?”

“It means you’re arranged to marry him.” said Callis. Agatha, whose only experience with marriage was attending her mother’s courtier’s weddings, must have looked confused, because Callis assumed her usual teaching position, in her chair next to the fire. Agatha rushed to sit at her feet, pulling her veil and gloves off so she could stick her hands in the flames. 

“Your mother and his father have arranged it so you two will get married when you’re all grown up. It helps out both kingdoms, with money, allies, and power. Eventually, you’ll be Queen of Camelot, and he’ll be Prince of Gavaldon.”

Agatha furrowed her brow.

“How can I be Queen of Camelot  _ and  _ Gavaldon?”

“There’s a difference between them.” Callis had told her. “You’ll be Queen  _ Regnant  _ of Gavaldon, because you’re the current Queen’s daughter, and the crown gets given to people’s children. But you’ll be Queen  _ Consort  _ of Camelot, because you’re married to the King. You’ll have more power in Gavaldon, because you’re the reigning Queen, but in Camelot your power comes from marrying Tedros.”

This was a little too much for Agatha, who struggled with it for a minute. Callis seemed to notice. 

“You’ll understand it better when you’re a little older.” she said. “All you need to know for now is that when you’re eighteen, you’ll go to Camelot to marry Tedros.”

Agatha thought about this for a minute--

“Can I come home after?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You might have to go there quite a lot, but you can definitely come home. You’ll just have to be there a little while, whilst you actually have the wedding.”

Agatha looked up at her. Eighteen seemed a very long time away-- hardly worth thinking about. She only really had two concerns. 

“You’ll come with me, right?”

Callis looked at her for a second--

Then she leaned down to pick her up, and put her in her lap. Agatha wriggled for a moment, but relented quickly, settling in the crook of Callis’s arm. 

“Yes, I’ll come with you.” she’d said. 

Now, Agatha knew she’d lied to reassure her; she’d had no idea if she’d be able to come, and Agatha’s bargaining with Vanessa had been to ensure she would. Then, though, she’d really only had one thought--

“Do I have to kiss him?” asked Agatha suddenly, apprehensive. Callis smiled, pulled out of her thoughts.

“Yes, sadly, you have to kiss him. It's part of being married.”

“Oh,  _ no _ , I don’t want to kiss him!  _ Ew-- _ ”

Callis had just laughed, even as Agatha complained.

She’d forgotten about it, mostly, as children tended to. But as she’d gotten older, Agatha had begun to  _ deliberately _ resolve not to think about it. If she was honest, she’d purposefully avoided learning about Tedros as much as possible, because learning about Tedros meant that the wedding was suddenly a reality. But she’d kept it at arms length for as long as she could, until she was about sixteen and people had started mentioning relentlessly. Then she’d resorted to fatalistic jokes, and it hadn’t been hard to pretend it was further away than it was, because Vanessa had kept her out of all the arrangements. 

But now, she was staring it in the face.

It was to be a glorious day. Cold enough to mean the members of the public packing the streets weren’t going to pass out in the heat, but bright and crisp enough to make it seem pleasant, even if it was still February. 

Agatha has been sitting here, in the corner of her balcony, since 2am. She’d gone to bed knowing full well she wasn’t going to sleep, and had given up on trying an hour in. She’d sat up in bed, staring at the wall and wringing her nightdress in her hands until she’d burnt a hole in it. She’d gone to lie in front of her fire, sat in the sitting room, gone to get a snack, gone to the bathroom three times and read the opening page of the same book multiple times, before eventually giving up on distractions and going outside. It’s six, now, and more carriages are arriving. They’ve been appearing consistently for the last week, and still more are parading down the drive-- the palace has suddenly become abuzz with various dignitaries and royal families visiting for the wedding. The arrivals now are probably people who need to be reported to stewards, to get permission to be at the front of the crowds. Reporters and sketch artists, and such…

Agatha grimaces and looks away. Perhaps it will do to get a few more hours of sleep, after all.

But it barely feels like she’s closed her eyes for ten seconds before she’s being shaken awake by someone unfamiliar.

“Ow!” the unknown maid blurts, yanking her hands away. “She burned me!”

“Don’t grab her then, clod.” snaps Callis’s voice from somewhere nearby. “Rule number one, Lucinda. Agatha, your mother has sent her  _ personal _ maids to help you get ready.”

Agatha sits up, eyeing the two prim, snooty maids stood in a pastel huddle next to her bed. Beatrix and Dot are lurking nearby with Callis, glaring at them. 

“Extra manpower needed today.” says Lucinda stiffly, staring at Agatha. Agatha, who knows her mother’s maids have never seen her without her veil, glares back. 

“Get on with it, then.” says Agatha grimly.

* * *

Get on with it they do. 

They strip her of her nightgown, and she’s flung into a shallow, scorchingly hot, heavily scented bath. Agatha sneezes, cringing at the heavy, flowery perfume, as someone lathers her hair in a similar shampoo and her body in a matching oil, scratching her with long nails. Agatha, generally shaken from her abrupt awakening, isn’t paying much attention--

So is slow to notice when they throw a whole pitcher of water over her to rinse her.

Agatha shouts and ducks away, swearing furiously and swiping at her body. 

“Did Vanessa tell you  _ anything _ ?" barks Callis, at her side in an instant. 

“Of course she didn’t.” snarls Agatha, hunched forward, trying to catch her breath. The maids exchange glances, but don’t offer any kind of apology.

Beatrix is silently offering her a towel, which she takes, scrambling out of the bath before they can stop her. Why aren’t her usual maids and Callis enough to prepare her? Why does she need her  _ mother's _ maids?    
Well, she knows, really. Vanessa is fully aware this is the first time Agatha will be unveiled, and she wants to try and make her look… well, not her  _ best,  _ but better than usual. There’s no covering up the big scars, not the ones on her nose and mouth and cheek-- the ones that ruin her whole face-- but the little ones can be concealed, and if she looks acceptable in every other way... It seems Vanessa has realised that trying to humiliate Agatha will only make  _ her  _ look bad by extension, so she’s trying to compensate. Hmph. Well, Agatha’s sure she’ll do something to displease her today. Maybe several things. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

* * *

She grumbles about this to herself as she’s re-subjected to the same extreme prep she’d had when she first arrived-- only her mother’s maids are much less careful, and much less friendly than Beatrix and Dot had been. For the next hour, Agatha has her whole body waxed, shaved and plucked, the scars on her neck, chest and arms expertly covered with makeup, and is doused in more of that too-strong rose oil. By the end of it, Agatha’s skin feels tender and raw, and she’s beginning to understand why Vanessa employs these two women-- they’re just as unsentimental and ruthless as her. Stuck-up, too-- they’d laughed when Agatha had demanded to know what they were doing to her, as if she should have known. Yes, it made perfect sense why these were her mother’s choices. 

But just as one of them opens her mouth to say something, the two of them are bodily shunted aside by Beatrix. 

“Our turn, ladies.” she says cheerfully. Vanessa’s two maids look her up and down doubtfully. 

“Beatrix, Queen Vanessa said we were to--”

“That’s  _ Countess _ to you now, sweetie.” says Beatrix smoothly. “We got a little promotion last night, me and Dot. In honour of the wedding, the King convinced his court it would be nice if we were  _ officially _ made members of it, so we could serve his new Queen as members of her household, rather than maids. Ladies in waiting. That kind of thing. Know what that means?”

The two maids look at one another--

“You don’t get to order me around anymore, right! Now get out, I’ve got to make her hair presentable.”

Agatha watches, stunned, as the two maids shuffle out, muttering something about fetching her dress. The both of them have been flitting around Vanessa for years, and Agatha has never seen them even _entertain_ a suggestion from anyone who wasn’t Vanessa, let alone take orders…

She registers what Beatrix had said.

“You two are Countesses, now?”

“Yep!” says Dot, slamming a box full of makeup down on the counter. “There was muttering of bringing in some other noblewomen to be in your household, so we--”

“--so  _ Dot  _ went to Teddy and threw a tantrum,” interrupted Beatrix. “So  _ he _ went and pitched a hissy fit of equal size to the court until they agreed to promote us. I think he also-- Callis, didn’t he try and promote you, somehow?”

“I was already a member of Agatha’s household.” says Callis, chucking Agatha’s robe onto her head from where she was sitting on the side of the tub. “He just secured it.”

Agatha hesitates halfway through putting it on, feeling rather touched--

“It was also because  _ he _ was horrified at the idea of having to deal with anyone new, don’t think it was just for you.” says Callis, clearly guessing her feelings. “I confess myself a little disappointed that I haven’t scared him off.”

Agatha laughs.

“Noted.”

* * *

It doesn’t take Beatrix long to fix her hair-- all she needs to do is make it look neat. She’s to be crowned at the wedding, so they couldn’t do anything fancy even if they wanted to, and it’s only grown back into a very short bob, anyway. Minimal makeup from Dot, apart from some darker lipstick that Agatha rather likes and other basic stuff she doesn’t really bother to question. She supposes there’s not much point in trying to cover anything up, and she suspects Dot had seen the apprehension in her expression at the mention of the extravagant makeup fashions here. 

Then, the dress. 

Agatha pulls nervously on the ties of her robe as Vanessa’s two maids totter in with the garment bag. Whatever it is, it’s clearly heavy, and she prays that Anemone has managed to save the disaster of the dress originally designed for her. 

But first, she’s given some new linens, ornate embroidery on the ends of the sleeves, new stockings, and a brand new kirtle-- much stiffer and more structured than her usual ones, and laced so tightly by Vanessa’s maids that Agatha starts coughing and Callis subtly loosens it. They’re not  _ supposed  _ to actually hinder breathing, though she’s sure Vanessa inclines to light-headedness sometimes to keep herself looking trim. The apron of fabric that will be visible through the split in the gown, is a deep, rich black. Unusual. Agatha rubs it carefully between her fingers as they put her gown over the top, hoping it’s a good sign…

“I’ll take it from here, ladies.” says Callis suddenly. “You two need to go and help the Queen get ready.”

Vanessa’s maids glance at one another, but they don’t argue, probably desperate to be free of their Queen’s surly daughter and her disrespectful maids. They turn and leave without another word, leaving Callis with Agatha. Beatrix and Dot are clattering around in the bathroom, not paying attention. 

Busily, Callis starts to lace up the sides of Agatha’s gown, but there’s a look on her face that Agatha doesn’t see often-- pinched and tense, as if she’s holding back from saying something. Usually, Callis speaks her mind, so this is unprecedented. 

Nervous, Agatha goes back to staring at her stockinged feet, not wanting to look anywhere, but least of all the mirror, but all she can see is the white and black fabric, her ungloved hands, and--

It hits her, suddenly, a stinging reality, like a slap. 

She’s about to be married.

To Tedros. 

In front of hundreds of people.

_ Unveiled _ . 

She turns abruptly to Callis, who looks up at her, surprised. 

“I can’t do this.” she croaks, suddenly wretched. “I  _ can’t _ . there’s going to be all these people, all these Kings and Empresses, I can’t,  _ Callis-- _ ” 

Callis finishes securing her jewellery and squeezes her hands tightly, almost painfully, trying to ground her. She’s sure they’re unbearably hot, but Callis doesn’t let go. Agatha gets like this sometimes, bowled over by an almost painful self-doubt, but this is exacerbated, a million times worse, made overwhelming by the circumstances. 

“They’ll hate me.” she whispers, doubled over. 

“Tedros won’t.” says Callis fiercely. Agatha looks away wildly, not wanting to voice her doubts-- 

“No, listen.” says Callis, pulling her sleeve so Agatha will look back at her. “Tedros won’t, and that’s all that matters. You think anyone’s going to risk saying anything, if they think it’s going to get back to him? You’ve seen how easily he gets annoyed. I know you think he’s just some stupid kid, and he  _ is,  _ but he’s also a world power and everyone else knows it.”

Agatha looks helplessly at her. She’s struggling to believe her, clawing to avoid the glaring problem they’re both ignoring-- the potential that Callis is wrong, and he  _ will-- _

“Want to look at your dress?” says Callis calmly, as if they’ve just been discussing the weather. Even though the answer is  _ no, never,  _ Agatha shakily turns back around--

_ I can work wonders.  _

Anemone has been as good as her word, because the gown is completely transformed. 

It's still the white silk she’d originally seen, but the tight, unflattering silhouette has been reconfigured-- neckline raised a little, bodice made slightly longer, the skirt a tad narrower. It makes Agatha’s height look stately and impressive, rather than ungainly. The original sleeves have been sliced off and replaced with wide, loose black fabric, laced with white. Matching black embroidery tracks the bodice and down the skirt, and pearls are strung across the bodice and down the split in the skirt where the black underskirt is visible-- not enough to look garish, but just enough to make it look very fine indeed. 

Agatha stares at it, stunned. It really is a gown fit for a queen. It’s a fond homage to her usual dark colour palette, but there’s nothing depressing about it-- the black is intended as a compliment to her dark hair and eyes, and it’s still clearly a dress made for a celebration. 

In it, she even thinks her face might look a little less prominent. 

Then Callis prods her in the side, and Agatha looks down-- to encounter Anemone’s sneaky flame motifs, just stitched above the waistline. 

Overwhelmed, Agatha starts to laugh. It’s slightly hysterical, but it’s preferable to the terrible panic she’d been consumed with only a few minutes ago. 

“I told her you’d like it.” sighs Callis, yanking her off the stool she’d been standing on so she can secure the veil into Agatha’s hair-- white silk, with more of that black embroidery. No headpiece this time, since she’s to be crowned at the ceremony. 

Trying not to think about the veil too hard, Agatha fidgets with the pearls on her bodice, hyper-aware that it’s not long until they have to leave.

She finds herself looking at Callis in the mirror instead, watching her nursemaid as she fusses with the veil-- there’s nothing wrong with it, as far as Agatha can tell. 

Sighing, she reaches up to pull the front over her face--

Callis catches her wrist. 

“You’re going to burn yourself if you keep grabbing my arms.” says Agatha, unsure what she’s doing. Callis is looking back at her in the mirror, wearing that hesitant expression again. Agatha turns around to look at her, confused--

“The other week…” says Callis slowly, fiddling with her necklace, the one Agatha had bought her for her birthday. “When you came back from that appointment with Anemone…”

Agatha blinks, confused. There was nothing special about that day, so far as she can see. They’d just been messing around. 

“You said--” Callis pauses, clearly teetering on the edge of telling her whatever it is. Agatha looks blankly at her, going back over that conversation. Now she thinks about it, Callis had looked at her oddly, after she’d said… she’d said…

Callis seems to steel herself, but Agatha gets there first. 

“I called you Mom.” She realises. “Didn’t I?”

Slowly, Callis nods. Agatha stares at her, surprised at herself. Not surprised that she thought of Callis as her mother-- of course she did, she’d raised her-- but surprised she’d said it out loud. She’d always avoided calling her it, in case it made her uncomfortable-- she wasn’t even 40, yet, and Agatha was nearly in her 20s, so Agatha had never been sure how she’d felt about it. There had also been the thought that it would just cause more conflict with Vanessa. So she was just Callis. Agatha hadn’t been under the impression she’d cared either way, but…

“Did you mind?” she asks. 

Callis blinks at her. Then she seems to come to life, and goes marching off to snatch up a few last trinkets from the side table.

“No. No, it was fine, I was just surprised because you’ve never done it before, and I wasn’t sure--”

Agatha grabs her around the waist and plants a kiss on her cheek. 

“I’ve been wanting to do it for years.” she says. “But I thought it would make you feel old.”

Callis looks at her, incredulous--

Then she laughs. 

“Who am I, Vanessa? I  _ am _ old, Agatha.”

“You’re not old.”

“I’m older than  _ you _ , missy. Don’t pick the embroidery on your gown.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Am I your mother or not?”

“Oh, you’re such an opportunist--”

Callis shuts her up by clasping her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Suddenly sobered, Agatha clutches Callis’s forearms, very aware that they’re both afraid of what’s coming. 

“I’m glad it’s him.” says Callis quietly. 

“Me, too.” whispers Agatha. 

It’s the first time she’s admitted it-- to herself, or anyone else. They make fun of Tedros for his earnestness, but it's the exact thing that both of them are now desperately clinging to. His decency is the necessary piece. If he has a bad-natured or mean reaction of any kind…

Almost on instinct, Agatha lets go of Callis and pulls her veil down over her face. Callis looks displeased as the fabric falls in-between them, as she usually does when Agatha veils herself.

It’s the last time it will have the same meaning, though. 

After today, it won’t be a secret anymore. 

“I wish it wasn’t  _ her _ walking me down the aisle.” mutters Agatha, shoving her feet into her heels. “I’d much rather it was you.”

“As much as I would love to, you know who your mother is in the eyes of the court.” sighs Callis, arranging her veil neatly for her. “So I’m afraid--” 

She looks over Agatha’s shoulder and her face closes off so fast it’s almost scary. 

“Queen Vanessa.” she says. 

Agatha whirls to the door.

Vanessa is standing there, watching them with an unreadable expression. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and her back is straight, but she’s strangely devoid of her usual disdain. She’s wearing blue, like the rest of Agatha’s wedding party, and her Queen’s crown. She’s never looked more extravagant-- or more serious. It’s impossible to know how long she’s been standing there for. Perhaps the whole time.

_ I hope she heard all of it.  _ Agatha thinks savagely.  _ Everything. It’s about time she knew.  _

“Ready to go?” Vanessa asks blankly. 

Agatha nods slowly.

It couldn’t be further from the truth. 

* * *

The wedding is being held at Caliburn Cathedral in the centre of the city, which means they need to take a carriage there. 

“This is stupid.” mutters Agatha as they’re crammed in together-- Agatha, Vanessa as the mother of the bride, and Sophie, Anadil and Callis as her attendants. She keeps her hands in her lap to avoid accidentally touching someone whilst ungloved. “There’s a chapel in the palace, why don’t we just hold it there?”

“It’s tradition.” says Vanessa sniffily. She’s clearly not happy to be sat with Callis-- she had tried to omit Callis from the wedding party a few weeks ago, until Agatha had started loudly asking after the effectiveness of appearance magic, so she’d relented, albeit in bad grace. “Besides, the palace chapel isn’t  _ nearly _ large enough for a wedding of this scale.”

Agatha knows that, as a royal wedding, it’s naturally going to be well-attended, but the knowledge that they needed a  _ cathedral  _ to fit everyone is highly daunting. 

That doesn’t prepare her for the immense crowds lining every street, though. 

Huge swathes of people are crammed into every nook and cranny of the streets they ride through, cheering and waving banners emblazoned with the Camelot dragon, throwing flowers into the wake of the carriage. Agatha blinks, bewildered.

“Um… they’re not all going to the wedding, right?”

“No,” Callis reassures her quickly. “But you’ll ride in an open-top carriage back to the palace for the reception and dinner, and people will want to see you and Tedros together.”

“Oh.” mutters Agatha, less bewildered now, and more apprehensive. Vanessa frowns. 

“I would have thought that was obvious. You won’t remember  _ my  _ wedding, but almost the entire population of the kingdom came to watch me and Stefan ride by.”

Agatha rolls her eyes and settles back to observe the crowds, wanting to find a genuine interest in the crowds of faces that will soon be her subjects.

But it’s hard, since she doesn't know if they’ll treat her with the same enthusiasm on the way back. 

* * *

They’re at the cathedral all too soon, and Agatha barely has time to look up at the intricate spires before the door is opened smartly for them. Vanessa and Callis get out first, glaring at one another when they both extend a hand to help Agatha down. Agatha chooses Callis, naturally, and steps down to an immense increase in cheering. People are craning over the barriers to get a good look at her dress, and she can see a group of somewhat hassled artists furiously sketching at the front. Agatha tries her best to wave enthusiastically, but the booming of the cathedral bells, the shouts of the crowd, and the bustle of people surrounding her-- attendants, bishops, flower girls-- are all utterly overwhelming. 

Sophie busily arranges her skirts for her whilst Vanessa proudly takes her place next to Agatha, waving to the crowd. Callis and Anadil seem to be preoccupied with keeping the flower girls-- who Agatha thinks are toddler cousins of Tedros’s-- from wandering off. 

Then Vanessa gestures for her to start walking. Agatha shakily lifts her skirts and starts up the steps, Vanessa keeping easy pace with her, a gentle smile carefully pasted onto her face. Agatha doesn’t have the capacity to sneer about it like she usually would, trying to avoid falling over in the heels or stepping on her skirt. The steps are carpeted in white for the occasion, which seems awfully impractical, but it stops too soon-- suddenly, she’s standing before the interior doors of the cathedral, and Vanessa is beside her, clasping her arm tightly. This time,  _ she’s  _ wearing gloves, no doubt to avoid being burned by Agatha.

How ironic. 

Agatha jumps as a fanfare suddenly blares out from somewhere-- she hears Callis snort from behind her-- and the doors start to open.

Vanessa straightens her back, widening her smile, and Agatha turns to look at her. Vanessa glances over at her, and for a second, they just look at one another. 

_ Are you happy for me?  _ Agatha wonders.  **_Can_ ** _ you be? _

But then the doors are open, Vanessa is leading her slowly down the aisle, and Agatha’s thoughts are knocked out of her head by the realisation of how many  _ people  _ are in this room. 

Packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the crowd makes a sea of gorgeous gowns, doublets, hats, fans and coats-- for a minute, Agatha can appreciate how beautiful it looks, a huge gathering of finely dressed people amongst stained glass and stone pillars.

Then she notices how they’re all craning to get a good look at her. 

_ You’re still veiled, you’re still veiled, you’re still veiled… _

Agatha bites her cheek and stares at specific faces, hoping to distract herself. She can see the people Beatrix coached her about-- the Sultan of Shazabah and his beautiful daughter in matching scarlet, the Empress of Putsi swathed in feathers, the King of Foxwood, the Emperor of Avalon Towers and his tall, handsome niece… anyone with even a smidgen of influence has come to see the union of Camelot and Gavaldon. 

The aisle feels about a thousand miles long, and they’re progressing so slowly, with so many people’s eyes on her…

Agatha starts to sweat. She’s not unused to being stared at, but the extra circumstances, the knowledge of what’s to come, the sheer amount of powerful people in this room...

Heart pounding, Agatha casts around for anything that might make her feel better,  _ anyone _ , but she can’t find any of her friends. Sophie, Callis and Anadil are behind her. All of the guards are helmeted, so no chance of finding Chaddick or Hester, and Beatrix and Dot are nowhere to be seen. Neither is Anemone.

Truly starting to panic, now, Agatha swallows hard, gazing at one of the stained glass windows--

Her hand is put into a much more solid one.

A much colder one.

Agatha doesn’t need to look to know that Tedros has come to meet her. 

He takes her hand and leads her carefully up the steps to the altar, Vanessa and the others backing off to sit in the front row of pews. The altar is raised, so they’re visible to everyone in the chapel-- Agatha is so busy worrying about that, she barely listens to the opening statements, only jerking back to the present when they’re bidden to kneel by the archbishop.

They do, Tedros still gripping her hand. The bishop begins to reel off some blessing that Agatha doesn’t really comprehend, heart still pounding--

She risks a glance at Tedros, and finds that he’s looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

He winks. 

Half of the tension sloughs out of Agatha at once. _ At least someone’s having fun _ , she thinks, exasperated, but she can’t stop herself pressing his hand slightly in acknowledgement. He’s resplendent in a matching white and black doublet, tight around his throat and chest, and his crown brushes his curls low across his brow. He has pearl earrings in. Of course he does…

Then Tedros is standing, and Agatha is standing with him, turning to face him as he takes both of her hands. More blessings, but it’s abundantly clear he’s not paying attention either, looking carefully at her. Agatha nervously glances over his shoulder and finds Chaddick stood to attention behind him, grinning at her.

Agatha sighs softly. He’s enjoying himself, too. The two of them are the worst, truly. 

Dimly, it occurs to her that they’re blowing their cover, standing with clasped hands without the least appearance of discomfort. If Weatherford and Vanessa didn’t know their magic cancelled the other’s out before, they’ll have realised today.

She can’t bring herself to care.

Not now. 

Then one of Tedros’s tiny cousins is tottering forwards, bearing two rings in a wooden box. Tedros lets go of Agatha’s hands and takes her ring from the box-- the delicate silver band with a small ruby and tiny diamonds she’d chosen weeks ago. Tedros had suggested the ruby as an inside joke, but in the end it had looked good, so she’d agreed to it. 

He takes her left hand and lifts it, sliding the ring onto her finger.

“With this ring I thee wed.” he tells her, squeezing her hand slightly as he secures it on her finger. Tense, Agatha copies him, taking his ring-- almost identical to hers, but only bearing diamonds-- and putting it onto his hand, relieved she doesn’t drop it. She’s starting to tremble, she realises, as she watches her own hands on Tedros’s. She knows what’s coming. There’s nothing between  _ it _ and her, not now they've done the rings, because after the rings--

“With this ring I thee wed.” she repeats, willing her voice not to betray her terror, relieved when it only shakes the tiniest bit.

Tedros bows his head to her. The priest is talking again--

“Thus, by the grace of this union, I declare you, King Tedros of Camelot, to be Prince Consort of Gavaldon. And I declare you, Princess Agatha of Gavaldon, to be the reigning Queen Consort of Camelot.”

And now--

The horror that Agatha is feeling has reached dizzying, sickening heights, her heart pounding so hard that it’s almost painful. 

Tedros reaches for her veil, and Agatha stands, numb, desperately wanting to stop him but knowing she can’t. 

In the roar of her thoughts, a notion surfaces-- she should have shown him before the wedding. That way, she wouldn’t have to watch the reaction with her face inches from his, seeing every emotion in his gaze no matter how hard he tries to hide it, because  _ Tedros can’t lie,  _ and--

Gently, Tedros lifts her veil. Agatha bites back a sob.

The thing is, despite her best efforts, she’s imagined this moment a million times. In some, he does his best to be kind-- he looks startled, horrified, but he covers it quickly and snatches a wobbly smile back onto his face, even if it lacks the usual enthusiasm, and will probably never regain it. In others, he looks painfully sympathetic, pitying, enough that Agatha wants to hit him. In her worst, darkest thoughts, he rips himself away from her, blatantly horrified, and breaks it off right there, just like Sophie had said. 

More recently, she’d anticipated the look he’s got right now-- the hopeful, almost excitable anticipation. He finally gets to know, she won’t stop him, he can see...

She can hear the creak of the wooden pews as everyone leans forwards, just as anticipatory as the groom, even Chaddick is craning his neck--

But Tedros doesn’t look startled, and he doesn’t look sympathetic, and he doesn’t look horrified.

Tedros carefully pushes her veil back, smooths it down… and he smiles at her. 

Adoring, delighted. 

_ Real.  _

Like someone who’s genuinely happy. Like a friend, or a lover, like… like...

Like a husband smiles at his wife.

Tedros smiles at her as he takes her by the waist and kisses her. 

For a split second, Agatha doesn’t know what to do, head absolutely empty with shock. This wasn't what she'd anticipated at all, and she-- she doesn't know what she--

Then she kisses him back, clutching his doublet, grounded by the press of his cold lips against hers and the gentle weight of his hand on her waist. She grips his hand tightly, and he does it back, kissing her harder in a clear reassurance--  _ I don’t care, I don’t, I don’t, I never did… _

They break apart, Agatha still holding him desperately--

Then she hears the muttering.

There’s applause, yes, but an undertone of whispers sweep the pews, jumping from person to person as Agatha turns towards them, Tedros presenting his new wife to the world...

It brings Agatha violently back to the present, and she starts desperately trying to find somewhere to look, somewhere where people won’t stare back, won’t gawk at her--

Tedros’s hand gently brushes her chin, and her gaze shoots back up to him despite her best efforts. 

“Kneel.” he murmurs, as the archbishop approaches, holding a crown-- the Queen of Camelot’s crown, the intricate silver and diamond piece she’d seen depicted in so many paintings in the castle.

Of course. She needs to be crowned.

Utterly overwhelmed, and slightly worried she’s going to faint, Agatha sinks to her knees as Tedros takes the crown from the bishop and holds it up.

“As the reigning King of Camelot, I and I alone have the authority to crown you, Agatha Aldridge, Princess of Gavaldon, as my Queen. I bestow upon you the title Queen Consort of Camelot. Long live the Queen!”

He lowers the crown onto her head, and the crowd take up the cry;

_ “Long live the Queen!” _

* * *

Agatha returns to the carriages in a daze-- she thinks she’s smiling, but honestly, she finds it hard to be sure, since she’s truly struggling to focus. Her smiles often look odd anyway, so it honestly might be best if she’s not. Either way, gasps, whispers and stares are following her, not at all covered by the polite applause inside the cathedral,  _ or  _ the cheering of the people of Camelot out in the streets. Agatha tries her best to tune it out, but it’s hard when she can see the sketch artists gawking at her, leaning over the barrier so far they’re risking toppling it over, and no matter where she looks, she can see someone else’s shocked face--

Perhaps she needn’t have worried about Tedros’s reaction. He’s just one person. Here are thousands, all horrified, so does it even matter that Tedros doesn’t care--?

But then she meets his eyes as he eagerly offers her a hand up into the carriage, and she thinks that  _ yes,  _ it really does matter. 

“Are you alright?” he asks anxiously as he follows her, careful not to step on her skirts. Agatha grits her teeth, still feeling shaky. 

“Better than I thought.” she says, as the door is slammed shut. She shoots another apprehensive glance across the crowd-- still cheering dutifully but generally looking rather stunned-- pretending to arrange her skirts. 

“I’m sorry it’s open-top,” says Tedros worriedly, catching her veil and pushing it back behind her head as the wind buffets them. “I suggested a closed one might be a better idea, but I couldn’t give them a good reason why when they asked, and they didn’t want to break with tradition.”

“It’s fine, it’s not your fault.” mutters Agatha. Then; “I should have told you before.”

“Why?” asks Tedros. “It was your choice. I don’t mind.”

Agatha bites back a  _ how?,  _ a  _ why?  _ and an  _ are you mad like I speculated on the boat?  _ before settling on a quiet;

“I know.”

She looks ahead, to the swathes of people awaiting them-- waiting to  _ see _ them-- and swallows. 

Tedros catches her hand and rubs his thumb across the back of it-- then seems to realise what he’s doing and lets go. 

“Sorry.” he mutters. “I just thought--”

“No, it’s fine.” Agatha grabs it back. For both appearances and for comfort.

There’s a pause. Agatha reluctantly copies Tedros and waves to the crowds of well-wishers, even though she tries her best to look over their heads--

Suddenly, Tedros looks at her, and his face clears of any anxiety it had held.

“What?” demands Agatha, suddenly apprehensive. 

“I nearly laughed during the vows.”

Agatha looks suspiciously at him. 

“... why?”

“No, nothing you did, I just noticed…”

Tedros leans over to whisper to her;

“Your mother’s dress is  _ dreadful _ .”

Agatha slowly starts to smile.

“What?”

“It’s so… puffy. I couldn’t stop looking at it. It doesn’t flatter her at all.”

Agatha starts to laugh. 

“You can be so  _ vicious _ , sometimes--”

Tedros grins at her, but she doesn’t miss how his face darkens when he looks back to Vanessa. 

“When it concerns her, I’ll be as vicious as I please.”

Agatha’s smile slowly fades as the realisation hits her. 

He knows how her face got the way it is. He’s worked it out, from what Callis told him.

And he’s not happy at all. 

The carriage jerks forwards, bearing them back towards the palace.

Tedros holds her hand tightly the whole way back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so next chapter is dinner/reception/aftermath! I basically picked and chose what wedding traditions I wanted just for things to work, which is why there's suddenly organised religion in this fic, coz I needed time for Agatha to work herself up into an Absolute Panic hsjss. hope you enjoyed (maybe enjoyed is a bit optimistic since that portion before her veil comes off even managed to scare ME. I was so pink in the face after I finished writing it my brain was STRUGGLING man) I wrote most of this in four hours straight and listened to that tiktok violins song the whole time (by which I mean the irrepressibles' "in this shirt" bc it had the correct vibes).


	19. I thee wed

Agatha is grateful for the low light in the banquet hall for several reasons.

One is that, of the many people turned towards her from the lower tables below their raised one, most probably can’t see her as clearly as they’d like. Second, she’s tired, and the adrenaline rush of the ceremony is starting to catch up with her-- hopefully the dark will conceal how weary she looks. 

Thirdly, she has to listen to Vanessa’s speech before she can have dessert, and she’s fairly sure she’s doing a bad job of looking happy about it. 

So she’s hunched in her chair next to Tedros, staring at her plate and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. She’s been obliged to hold Tedros’s hand, and she tries to focus on how damn  _ cold  _ his fingers are, rather than her mother making a stupid, twittering speech beside her. She’s examining the weird blue tinge to Tedros’s nails, but it’s hard not to hear, since Vanessa keeps looking at her for a reaction. Grinding her teeth, she tunes back in;

“--it has been an honour and a privilege to watch Agatha grow up, and I’m so proud of the woman she’s become today. It feels like only yesterday when I was carrying her home after she fell in a stream, or teaching her where Camelot was on the map...”

Agatha jerks as she recognises the anecdotes.

People laugh and  _ aww  _ politely, but she doesn’t even bother to try. 

She’s too busy balling her free hand into her skirt to conceal how they’ve started to glow. 

How  _ dare  _ she--

She glances over to where Callis is sitting, just visible behind Vanessa, picking at the cracks in the table silently. She looks drained. 

Well, Agatha can be furious for the both of them. She knows Callis had been forced to report to Vanessa every day whilst she was raising Agatha, but she’d had no idea that Vanessa had even  _ listened,  _ let alone would remember specifics to  _ steal  _ in her wedding speech…

Searching desperately for a distraction, she looks around--

Tedros is sitting next to her, staring up at Vanessa with such blatant disdain it’s almost breathtaking. Agatha stares at him for a minute, startled. She doesn’t exactly want to tell him to  _ stop,  _ but she does think he’s going to raise some awkward questions if he continues to look like that...

She pinches his hand, and his gaze shoots back to her, softening immediately. Frowning, Agatha mutters to him;

“Stop glaring at her. People will ask questions.”

Tedros’s eyebrows come down.

“But--”

Then applause has erupted around them and Vanessa is sitting back down, smiling brightly.

Agatha turns to her, and Vanessa looks back at her--

And Agatha knows that she’d heard every word of what Agatha said to Callis this morning. 

For a second, they both freeze; Agatha glaring, Vanessa’s expression closing off…

Then they both turn away.

“None of that was true, was it.” mutters Tedros, from next to her.

“Oh, it was _true._ She just didn’t do any of it, Callis did.” snaps Agatha, loud enough for Vanessa to hear, snatching a drink offered to her and spilling some on the table. “Can we have dessert now?”

“Yeah, it’s coming--” Tedros peers around her, to look at Vanessa, and Agatha pushes him back. 

“ _ Stop,  _ leave it alone.”

“She’s making herself more despicable by the second.” mumbles Tedros, accepting his drink from Weatherford, who has been waiting for him to take it, looking rather long-suffering. He takes a bad-tempered swig and stares out at the swathes of people at the other tables as the desserts are set on the table before them. Agatha peers at the plate hopefully. The food has been the best bit about today-- just as elaborate and delicious as all of the other dinners she’s been to. 

“It’s some kind of bavarois.” says Tedros. Agatha looks blankly at him and he raises his eyebrows. “It’s like a cream thing? It’s chocolate and passionfruit--”

Agatha is already scrabbling for her fork. Tedros snorts, but he pushes her wrist away before she can stab it.

“Have mine, it’s got more chocolate on it.”

Thinking this is probably an attempt at making her feel better, Agatha mutters a thank you and accepts the swap. Various trays of sweet pastries are also being set at intervals on the tables, and people are being offered coffee. If this was a less stressful situation, she’d probably be quite content. But since she’s sat in her wedding dress, next to her hateful mother, with her face fully exposed to hundreds of people... it’s hard to feel anything but rigidly on guard. 

Agatha sets her fork back on her empty plate and considers the pastries, fully aware she’s only eating because she’s unhappy, not because she’s really  _ that  _ hungry.

Tedros nudges her elbow, and she looks over to find him offering her half of whatever he’s chosen.

“Do you want the other half?” 

Agatha looks at him for a second, wondering why it felt so familiar--

“Oh, ha ha.”

Tedros grins and puts it into her hand. She thinks he looks rather pleased with himself.

* * *

Soon after, they’re ushered from the banquet hall, through the palace and into the ballroom where the rest of the night will be spent. There’s no real procession or order, so Agatha finds herself separated from Tedros and with the Princess of Shazabah. 

And her girlfriend. 

“ _ Why didn’t you tell me? _ ” hisses Agatha.

“It didn’t come up.” says Beatrix sweetly.

“It did! You spent ten minutes telling us about the Shazabah royal family!”

“How do you think I knew so much, genius?” grins Beatrix. “Did you not make the connection between  _ my  _ Reena and Princess Reena of Shazabah?”

“I think you’ll find I’ve been worrying about a couple of other things for the last few months, so… no.” mutters Agatha, ducking her head as a few pageboys going the opposite way try and get a look at her. 

“She did it on purpose.” says Reena calmly as they start down the steps to the already bustling ballroom. “She wanted to see how long it took you.”

“At least  _ you’re  _ honest.” sighs Agatha, but she can’t help but grin. Reena is one of the only dignitaries she’s met this evening who’s looked her in the face, and made no comment, which she’s glad for. Also, she’s a lot nicer than her womanising, balding father. Agatha was immensely relieved when Reena told her she was usually the one sent to do the negotiating. 

They reach the bottom of the stairs and Reena and Beatrix disappear off to dance, with a brief goodbye. Agatha casts around for Tedros, vaguely accepting congratulations--

She turns and is met with the red-faced, goose-feather endowed Empress of Putsi.

“So!” says the Empress, in the self-satisfied manner of someone who’s just been proven very right. “The veil finally comes off, eh?”

Agatha looks around for an escape, but she can’t think of one. 

“Er--”

But the Empress is jabbering away again;

“You know, I said to my son Peeta-- come here, Peeta, come and have a look-- I said,  _ I bet she’s hiding something.  _ Everyone else in my court thought maybe you were just like your mother, so beautiful it was unreal, but I knew different. And I was right, wasn’t I? A pity you look nothing like your mother. Oh, dear, look at you…” she tuts, tilting her chin this way and that. Her gormless son gawks over her shoulder.

“What happened?” demands the Empress, dropping her hand abruptly and piercing her with an expectant gaze.

“I…” Agatha wrings her skirt in her hands. “Um, it was… I don’t really want to… say...”

“Well, naturally you don’t _want_ to talk about it, else you wouldn’t have worn the veil, but now it’s off, everyone will want to know. You might as well just start telling people before rumours start abounding, you know? There’ll be speculation in the papers as early as tomorrow morning…”

Agatha stares at her, any response she might have had stuck in her throat. She feels rather numb, and she can tell everyone around them is listening, too. The Empress is looking expectantly at her, and Agatha stares back wordlessly, feeling exposed and frightened--

Then she spots Vanessa swooping through the crowd towards them, clearly wanting to know what Agatha is saying to them.

The lump in Agatha’s throat subsides just enough for her to be able to talk. She smooths her skirts with shaking hands, and looks the Empress dead in the eye. 

“A cradle collapsed on me as a child, whilst my mother was with me. I’m sure she can tell you more.” She curtsies and gestures to the approaching Vanessa. “Excuse me, your highness. I must find my husband.”

She brushes past them and hurries away, fully aware they’re all staring at her, and trying to walk as briskly as she can without looking like she’s running away. She keeps walking, weaving randomly through the crowd until she reaches the edge of the ballroom, where there’s a number of curtained alcoves.

It’s her wedding. She shouldn’t be hiding. But…

She casts a glance behind her. Vanessa is talking to the Empress of Putsi, who looks shocked, and is talking very emphatically. 

Good.

Agatha didn’t even tell her the worst of it, and Vanessa will know that.

She ducks behind the curtain and crumples onto the window seat, trembling. She’s never said it out loud before, and the flash of fury that had let her blurt it out has left her completely, leaving her dazed--

“I know you don’t like parties  _ that  _ much, but you don’t need to  _ hide _ \-- hey, what’s wrong?”

Agatha looks tiredly up at Tedros standing over her.

“How did you find me so fast?”

Tedros puts a hand out and flicks her crown. 

“Easy marker. I was already looking for you, anyway. Don’t you want to dance?”

Agatha opens her mouth to say  _ no,  _ she’s not in the mood, but catches sight of how hopeful he looks and kills it before she can. 

“In a bit.” she says, unconvincingly. 

Tedros frowns, clearly noticing that the dancing is not the issue. 

“Did the Empress say something to you? She’s  _ so  _ insensitive, she asked me about my mother at my coronation… what?”

“Why haven’t you asked?” asks Agatha glumly. 

“Asked what?”

“What happened to my face.”

“ _ That’s what she asked-- _ ”

Tedros turns abruptly and Agatha grabs the back of his doublet. 

“No. Do  _ not _ go over there. I spun it so it looked bad on my mother, turn back around.”

Tedros turns back to her, albeit reluctantly.

“But--”

“Why haven’t you  _ asked _ ?” repeats Agatha. 

“Because I guessed.” says Tedros simply. 

Agatha looks at him for a second. So, what she’d assumed in the carriage had been right. 

“When?”

She might be imagining it, but she thinks Tedros’s eyes have taken on a new shade, so light blue it’s pushing white. 

“I looked past you when I was crowning you, and made eye contact with Callis. I realised that between you, you’d told me everything.”

It’s true; they had. Callis had told him how she’d pulled Agatha out of a burning crade, and Agatha had been far too obvious when he’d started talking about collapsing cradles and being cut by them.

Agatha puts her head down and lets out a breath. Then, with a considerable effort, she looks back up. She doesn’t have the energy to continue the conversation. 

“Let’s go dance.”

Tedros’s face brightens. 

* * *

By the time they get there, there are enough people to mean they’re not very noticeable. 

“How did you spin it so it looked bad on Vanessa?” asks Tedros, halfway through the waltz. Agatha smiles grimly.

“Well, after her lovely little speech, I figured everyone would assume she’d been responsible for my entire upbringing, so it can hardly look like it was  _ Callis’s  _ fault, since Callis apparently had very little to do with me.”

Tedros raises his eyebrows. 

“And you think it’ll work?”

“I hope so.” Agatha resolves to tell him of her plan concerning the veil, later. She looks over at Callis, who she can see talking to Reena and the Princess of Avalon Towers. “I called Callis Mom by accident, the other week.” she mumbles. “Didn’t even realise, until she brought it up to me this morning.”

“That makes Vanessa’s speech even worse.” mutters Tedros. 

“It’s because I said I wished Callis was my mother in front of her.” sighs Agatha. 

Tedros pulls a face.

“She can’t have it both ways.”

“Oh, of course. She’s only my mother when it’s convenient.” agrees Agatha, glancing at Vanessa stood with Sophie by one of the windows. They appear to be arguing. 

Good.

“I think Chaddick wants to steal you.” says Tedros suddenly. 

Agatha, surprised, looks over his shoulder to see Chaddick waving at her from the fringe of the ballroom. 

“Why?”

“Who knows.” sighs Tedros, steering them towards him. “Probably wants to embarrass me.”

“Absolutely right.” says Chaddick, barging in between them and grabbing Agatha’s hands. “Variety and all that. Go and find a Duchess to dance with or something. Bye.”

He yanks a smirking Agatha back onto the dancefloor and grins at her. 

“This is nice.” 

“What do you want?” sighs Agatha. She’s glad he’s looking her in the eye, and there’s no suggestion he’s bothered by the state of her face. 

Chaddick still smiles, but his gaze becomes slightly more serious. 

“To tell you that your mother has been making friends with some of the palace guards.”

Agatha stares.

“What?”

“She’s got a group of about twelve on rotation, and some of them have started to make comments which suggest they don’t find her as repulsive as the rest of us. The younger ones, the ones who aren’t as loyal to Tedros and haven’t been here as long.”

Agatha looks over at Vanessa, still arguing with Sophie.

“What do you think she’s doing?”

“I don’t know.” says Chaddick grimly. “But don’t say anything in front of guards you don’t want getting back to her. I’m their Captain, but I only have so much influence. I promise you that myself, Yara, Nicholas, Bastain and Tarquin are still loyal to you, as is Hester, obviously, but… be careful.”

“Right.” murmurs Agatha. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” says Chaddick. Then his face becomes bright with mirth again, and Agatha braces for something embarrassing-- 

“Also I need to warn you that Tedros’s chest is  _ really  _ pale. Yeah his magic makes it that way, blah blah, but like. Not even kidding. Blinding, truly.”

Agatha bursts out laughing for the first time that day.

* * *

It’s a few hours later when Agatha realises someone’s staring at her. 

The back of her neck prickles, and she turns to see a young man around her age leaning against the wall, watching her with red eyes. Unnerved, she looks over at Tedros, wondering if they know one another.

“Who’s that?” she asks him.

“Who’s who?” Tedros looks around from talking to Chaddick-- 

His face tenses. 

The other man doesn’t look remotely flustered. He raises his glass to them and shoots Tedros a significant look, before turning and disappearing back into the crowd. 

Tedros watches him go, mouth tense. 

“Who is he?” presses Agatha. “Do you not like him?”

“He doesn’t like  _ me.”  _ murmurs Tedros. He glances around-- at this point, almost everyone is drunk, and no one is paying attention. “Perhaps we should retire. You don’t want to stay, do you?”

Agatha looks closely at him, suspecting he wants to tell her something out of earshot of everyone else. 

“No, I don’t. Alright--”

She turns and is met with Chaddick’s grinning face.

“Remember what I told you, yeah?”

“Oh, shut  _ up _ .” groans Agatha, marching after Tedros, who is stoutly ignoring his knight. Chaddick doesn’t follow her, but his laughter does. 

The second they’re out into the cool corridors of the castle, Tedros checks no one’s nearby, turns to her--

“He was my assassin.”

It takes Agatha a few seconds to compute, stuck in between Chaddick’s ribbing and this new revelation--

Then it sinks in. 

“HE WAS  _ WHAT _ ?” barks Agatha.

“Shhh! Shush! Let me explain!”

“Explain  _ what?  _ Why did you just let him--”

“No no, listen! He’s my ex-seneschal.”

“Ex because he tried to  _ kill  _ you?”

“No. Ex because… um…”

Tedros sighs. He takes his crown off and looks at it, for a minute.

“It’s a long story. At my coronation, just before I went out before all the people… I’d just started taking the ivy. I didn’t think it was a good idea, and I argued with my advisors, they insulted me, and I got angry and… shot some ice at the wall. Nearly hit Hort.”

“Hort.” says Agatha, unimpressed and unable to see where this is going. 

“He was just a pageboy then. We promoted him for his troubles, and to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, he kind of had a thing with Ravan-- the guy you just saw-- and that made Ravan realise that I was kind of… really dangerous. He quit my court and started to try and convince everyone else I was this massive danger to Camelot, which, back then, might not have been too far from the truth. Beatrix and Dot refused to believe him, though. I panicked and thought he was right and kept taking the ivy, even though we know  _ now _ that was bad for me. Ravan turned back up a few times to try and convince me to abdicate. I refused, because there was no one who could take my place. No one good, anyway.”

He pauses, opening a side door for Agatha. 

“And then he disappeared… until he turned back up before my birthday and tried to kill me.”

“And you grabbed the knife.” says Agatha. 

“Grabbed and broke it.” agrees Tedros. “Convinced him to make a deal with me-- I’d stop taking the ivy and find a teacher, if he left me alone and distracted the court from me training, which he has. Had to get a few hits in before he left, obviously, to make it look realistic, but he’s left me unbothered since. I imagine he came here tonight to check, and once he saw we weren’t wearing gloves, he was satisfied I had it under control.”

Agatha stares doubtfully at him. 

“And you think he’s just… going to leave you alone?”

Tedros shrugs. 

“He knows I’ve got more control over my magic than I used to, and now I’m with you all the time, I don’t think he’ll risk it. He’ll know by now that you’re my teacher, he’ll have found out from someone, and he’ll know that means you’re more competent than me. Won’t risk getting his head taken off.”

Not completely convinced, Agatha looks at him worriedly for a minute. She still doesn’t think it was a good idea to let him go unchecked, but if they’d made a deal…

“You'd better be right.” she mutters, falling into step beside him. Tedros shrugs. 

“We used to be friends. I don’t think he  _ really  _ wants to kill me...”

But he sounds somewhat unsure, and trails off at the end. Agatha raises her eyebrows, but decides to shelf the issue for now-- until tomorrow, at least. He’s right in that anyone who has a go at attacking  _ her _ in her sleep is going to have another thing coming.

Presently, it occurs to her that she’s following Tedros to  _ his  _ rooms, not hers. 

She tenses. 

Of course. They’re married now. It’s how it works. 

But she’s barely even thought about the fact that they have to share a living space for the rest of their lives, let alone a  _ bed-- _

She shoots Tedros a nervous glance, but he’s sauntering along unbothered, whistling one of the waltzes and swinging the tassel on his doublet. Of course he is. 

Agatha hasn’t thought about this at all. Or anything beyond her unveiling, really.

It occurs to her that she might have actually started to  _ believe _ Sophie’s vicious little comment. She’d not thought about a thing after the wedding... because she hadn’t thought she’d get  _ past  _ the wedding. Anything after it had been a blank. So, now…

“Slow down, I can’t keep up--”

Agatha realises she’s started striding in her agitation, and slows to let Tedros catch up, crushing the fabric of one of her sleeves in her hand. She doesn’t know what to do, and she finds that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to look him in the eye. She doesn’t know how she’s been doing it all night, what was she  _ thinking,  _ now everyone knew, everyone had seen--

She puts her hand over her mouth, suddenly panicked, but notices Tedros looking and quickly tries to pass it off as a yawn. She’s gone through the rest of the wedding in a stupor. From the moment she left the chapel, she’s been dazed, operating largely on autopilot. Now she’s taken a step back from it, everything has come back to her. 

They walk the rest of the way in silence, until Agatha starts to recognise the wing they’re in, and Tedros points her through his sitting room (dark and cold, almost identical to hers)-- and shoulders his bedroom door open. 

“They offered to move us to my father’s old rooms, but I said no, because… you know. Weird. Bad memories.”

“It’s fine.” mutters Agatha vaguely, casting an eye around the room. She’s never been here before, obviously. It’s impressively large. Not that any of the rooms in this whole palace are _ small _ , but it’s much bigger than the room she’s been in. It’s an immense, elaborate space. A chandelier drips diamonds from the huge, detailed mural of mythology and history and plush, expensive blue and gold furniture is spaced out around the room. Great wide windows dominate one side of the room, looking towards the city rather than the grounds, and on the other side, there’s a vast, ornate mirror, taking up almost one entire wall. Agatha turns away from it immediately, teeth clenched. 

However, despite the splendour, it’s oddly… sparse. It lacks personal items. There’s a few distinctly un-read books on one of the windowsills, a messy box of cosmetics on the vanity, and a lot of clothes in one of the open wardrobes, but those are more or less the only indications that someone actually  _ lives _ here.

“They brought your stuff up.” says Tedros, pushing the door shut. “Your clothes are in that left-hand closet, and I put your books and papers and stuff on that shelf. Umm…”

He suddenly looks sheepish.

”I kicked your cat out, because he bit me when I was trying to do my eyebrows. His basket’s in the sitting room. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“Reaper doesn’t like anyone, but I think he’ll object to how cold you are.” says Agatha, trying to sound amused and not like she just wants to ignore him for the rest of the night. “He’s bald. So.”

Tedros frowns. 

“ _ Reaper?” _

“It was a joke name that stuck after he kept bringing us dead birds.” 

“...oh.” Tedros blinks. “Will he carry on doing that?”

“Probably.” says Agatha. 

“Ah. Right.”

Tedros stands there for a minute, clearly unsure what to do. Agatha looks back at him, equally at a loss. She feels achy and unsettled, and  _ really  _ doesn’t want to have to carry this entire interaction--

Tedros seems to suddenly come to life.

“I need to wash my makeup off, or I’ll break out.” he declares, suddenly making a beeline for the adjoining door that Agatha assumes leads to the bathroom. “You can move your stuff if you’re not happy with where I put it, it’s fine, I’m not precious. Be right back--”

He ducks through the other door and it snaps shut. 

Agatha stands alone in the centre of the huge, over-elaborate bedroom, suspecting he’s left her alone on purpose. She’s probably done a poor job of hiding her apprehension. There’s no veil left to hide behind, anymore.

Tentatively, she sits down on the very edge of Tedros’s bed, wringing her hands…

She looks up and is met with her own marred face staring back at her in the huge, shiny mirror. She doesn’t look like a Princess, let alone the new Queen of Camelot. She just looks sad and ugly. 

She snatches the crown off her head and hurls it onto the nearby sofa, glaring at her reflection. Her reflection glares back, not looking any less like an imposter, even without the crown. 

She’s not meant for this. 

Any of it. 

Why couldn’t Vanessa have just sent Sophie instead, like she’d wanted to? It’d be so much easier that way. Vanessa wouldn’t have had to make up happy memories for her speech, Agatha wouldn’t have nearly fainted from fear at the altar, everyone could have enjoyed the day without the huge, obvious,  _ problem  _ with the bride...

Hands shaking, she fumbles for her shoes and yanks them off, flinging them to the floor. She’s so tense. So tired. So miserable. 

Tears sneak up on her so fast she doesn’t even have the opportunity to try and stop them. Suddenly, she’s just slipped off the edge of the bed and into a sobbing, shaking heap on the floor, hunched over her skirts, her fists balled into the fabric. The tears evaporate almost as soon as they come, but it doesn’t matter either way-- all of the tension and anxiety and downright  _ fear  _ that she’s felt today have finally caught up with her. 

Heaving for breath, she wipes her face with her hands--

Before realising that someone very cold has sat down next to her. 

She freezes, staring at her knees. She hadn’t thought Tedros would be that fast, and she  _ really  _ doesn’t want him to see her cry.

But he doesn’t say anything beyond;

“Here.” 

He presses a black handkerchief into her hands. Agatha hurriedly wipes her eyes-- there’s not much point, but it might make the places where her makeup has run less apparent. 

They sit in silence for a minute. Agatha wants to cry again, but she clamps her mouth shut and swallows hard, trying to crush the urge, and praying that Tedros won’t--

“You were so white when I took your veil off.” 

...say something. 

It was too much to hope, clearly.

“Were you really that scared?” asks Tedros sadly.

Agatha doesn’t know how to deny it, so she just shrugs and remains silent. Tedros waits for her to answer, but she doesn’t, so he barrels on;

“Callis told me not to ask, so I won’t, but I think Vanessa’s an old hag and if I’m right--”

“If you think that the burning cradle collapsed on me and cut my face whilst my mother stood and did nothing, you’re right, yes.” snaps Agatha. “What are you going to do, dump more snow on her?”

“No.” says Tedros, not reacting to the jab. “I just think she’s been hideous to you and I despise her, so I’ve been spreading rumours about her within my court.”

Agatha nearly tears the handkerchief in her surprise. 

“You’ve been  _ what?  _ Tedros--”

“You don’t even look that bad, and she’s convinced you that everyone you come into contact with is going to hate you.” says Tedros loudly. “So I’ve been telling everyone she killed her husband and forces you to wear the veil.”

Agatha finally looks up at him. 

“You… wow, your lips really  _ do _ go blue.”

Tedros blinks back at her, frostbitten face finally exposed. His eyelids, lips and cheeks are all stained with purplish-blue blotches, and his eyes really are very intensely icy blue. She can see white hairs in his eyebrows, probably where the dye has started to come out.

“I thought if you were forced to show me your face, I had to show you mine.” frowns Tedros. “I can put foundation back on if it’s scary.”

“Oh, it’s not scary.” Agatha shoots him another interested glance-- it really is fascinating-- and turns away again. “It’s not as bad as mine, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Yours doesn’t even look that bad, like I just  _ said--” _

Agatha cuts across him. 

“How did you even  _ know  _ she killed Stefan?”

Tedros blinks.

“I didn’t, but Dot told me that Hester told her about it. Is it true?”

“I don’t know.” admits Agatha. “Probably. Callis believes it. Oh--” Abruptly, she turns back to him. “ _ Tedros _ , that’ll come back and bite you. You  _ can’t  _ do that.”

“Too late.” says Tedros coolly. “Besides, what can she do? She’s got no authority over me. Or you, now.”

Agatha thinks doubtfully of what Chaddick had told her, but it’s too late to get into that tonight. She looks tiredly back at her hands-- 

“This is  _ my _ handkerchief.” she notices, spotting the initials AA stitched into the corner. “Where did you-- is this the one from the  _ tournament?” _

“...yes.” says Tedros weakly. “I mean, you gave it to me, and I didn’t really know what to do with it, so I just… kept it...”

He trails off, biting his cheek. 

Sophie’s words a few week ago suddenly come back to Agatha;

_ Despite your churlish attitude and complete lack of fashion sense, I think he does have a little crush on you, yes. _

“Right. Well, I’ll be keeping it.” she says.

“That’s fine.” mumbles Tedros. 

They sit in awkward silence for a moment. 

“I’ve got an idea.” Tedros blurts, suddenly. Agatha gets the impression he’s been waiting to say it for a few minutes.

“What is it?” she mutters, hoping it’s not something that requires too much effort on her part. 

Tedros shifts uncomfortably. 

“Look, I know this isn’t really… ideal… and it’s kind of awkward.”

“Very awkward.” agrees Agatha. 

“Right. So, um, I thought we could kind of make it like… a sleepover?”

At her confused lack of response, Tedros’s shoulders come up, and she gets the impression that if he  _ could  _ blush-- which he clearly can’t-- he would be doing it.

“It sounds stupid. But I can get some of the wedding cake from the kitchens, and I need to redo my nails anyway, and I can do yours, and Beatrix tells me all sorts of gossip… and… and… I just thought it would be fun.”

He looks horribly flustered. 

_ Agatha _ is fighting the urge to grab his face and squish it, like one would do to a particularly gormless puppy. She  _ knows  _ he has a crush on her, and he’s just managed to  _ marry  _ her, but he’s offering wedding cake and manicures instead of trying to kiss her.

She smiles at Tedros and watches his face relax in relief.

“Alright, let’s do that.” she says, hoping she looks as sincere as she feels. “That sounds good.” 

She’s not very good at schooling her expressions, since she’s never needed to do it before, but  _ he _ looks happy as he springs to his feet, so she must have done something right. She accepts his hand up off the floor and smooths her skirts.

“I need to take this stupid thing off, it’s getting itchy.” she mutters. 

“I think it’s nice.” mumbles Tedros. “You look pretty.”

Agatha looks blankly at him, unsure how to respond. Tedros bites his lip.

“Um, but that's fine. You can get changed whilst I go and get the stuff--”

“Wait, I’ll need your help with the laces.” says Agatha vaguely, twisting her arm experimentally around her side.

Then she realises what she’s said.

Spooked, she looks up at him, and he stares back, equally skittish--

Tedros seems to come to himself. 

“Yeah, sure, sure--”

Agatha looks quickly away as he moves to stand with her, and starts making quick work of the laces on her left hand side. His hands are still noticeably cold, even through the layers of fabric, and he smells strongly of that mint oil he seems to use as perfume. The whole room smells of it, but it’s strongest on him. He leans over to loosen the other side, and Agatha can feel his heart thudding, almost as hard as hers. His breath is cold on the back of her neck. The low thrum of magic she’s always been able to sense off of him is as present as ever, but slightly subdued, as if he’s making an effort to keep it in check--

Then it spikes, suddenly leaping before it’s snatched back into submission. Confused, Agatha looks down--

“Sorry.” Tedros mutters, scratching frost off of the laces currently in his hands. “Been hard to control it without gloves.”

“It’s fine.” murmurs Agatha, as he finishes loosening the sides. She pulls the oversleeves off, mostly for something to do.

She doesn’t know what compels her to do it, but suddenly, she finds herself turning to look him in the face. She’s been avoiding doing it all night, but now…

Of course, he doesn’t look away. He looks evenly back at her, and they’re still close enough to mean that she can feel his heart pounding.

“I meant it.” says Tedros. 

He puts his hand out and presses his fingers to the scar next to her mouth.

Agatha knows what he’s talking about. 

Quietly, she puts her hand up and pulls his away, but doesn’t let go of it immediately, squeezing his fingers in silent gratitude. She’s not sure she  _ knows _ what to say, let alone if she’ll ever be able to say it, but hopefully he’ll understand, anyway…

There  _ is  _ a ring of white around his pupil. Agatha has never noticed that before. She’s close enough to see it. Close enough to kiss him...

Agatha thinks about kissing him.

But, in the end, all she says is;

“Don’t you need to go to the kitchens?”

Tedros blinks. 

“Oh, you’re right, yeah, they’ll be mad if I’m any later--”

He immediately makes for the door, spell broken, and Agatha flops onto the bed again, exhausted--

And notices the door and the mirror are at such an angle to mean that she can see a little way down the corridor.

So, when Tedros stops halfway down and does a little victory jump, it’s probably not as secret as he’d have liked it to be. 

* * *

“Does it hurt?” asks Tedros into the darkness, much later that night. They’ve  _ technically _ been sleeping for at least half an hour, but Agatha has been subtly eating more of the wedding cake off of her bedside table, and she can see Tedros flicking little bits of snow into the air from the light of the small flame she’s summoned.

“No.” murmurs Agatha, cramming the last of the cake into her mouth and shaking her hand to put the flame out. “Not really. Aches a little, sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to do with you.” Agatha drops back against the pillows.“It’s fine.”

They’re at very opposing sides of the bed-- it’s big enough for there to be a very respectable gap between them. Still, Agatha’s left side is much colder than her right. 

They lie in silence for a while. Agatha burrows further under the covers and listens to Tedros’s breathing slowing, and eventually levelling out. The faint sounds of the last few wedding stragglers heading to bed are just about audible, and it’s started to rain outside-- a welcome departure from all the snow of the last few months.

Agatha turns over. Her magic affords her a little better night vision than the average person, but it’s always more practical to have a light. Still, it means she can see Tedros, sprawled out on his side of the bed in one of his stupid barely-laced shirts. He looks very peaceful, which is unusual-- usually, he’s over-expressive. To see him with no real emotion is odd, and it reminds her of the first time she met him, and how artificial he’d looked.

That hadn’t lasted long. Tonight, she’d seen the last of it disappear. 

She looks at him for a minute. 

“I’m glad it’s you.” she whispers, barely audible.

She doesn’t expect him to hear it. It’s enough for her that she’s said it in his presence.

So whether or not she dreamed the press of his hand against her cheek, a few minutes later, is not really relevant. 

Not really. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to use a word I don't particularly like but GOD Tedros is a hardcore Agatha simp isn't he


	20. under ice

Tedros wakes up before Agatha. 

For a minute, he stares up at the richly decorated ceiling. A painted cherub stares back at him. There’s a new weight on his left hand, even though he usually takes his jewellery and rings off before he goes to bed…

Rings. It’s his wedding ring. 

He rolls over. 

Even in her sleep, Agatha covers her face. Her forearm is slung across her eyes, obscuring most of her features, and he suspects she deliberately lets her fringe grow too long. She doesn’t look particularly relaxed-- a tiny frown plays around her mouth, and her forehead is creased. Whether it’s in thought, worry, tension, or a combination, Tedros isn’t sure. The scar by her mouth tends to make her look more displeased than she actually is, he thinks. 

But it’s better than not being able to tell what she’s thinking at all, though. 

He slowly sits up, trying his best not to disturb her, and freezes when she shifts-- 

But all she does is roll onto her side, her arm falling onto the mattress between them. Tedros stays stock-still. 

He has to admit, less than 24 hours ago, he’d had some very optimistic fantasies about this morning. He’d been entertaining various mildly embarrassing romantic notions as he’d gotten ready for the wedding. Dramatic confessions of love and passionate embraces, that sort of thing. 

(Embarrassing, yes, but he can’t help himself.)

But the second he’d lifted that veil and seen her white face staring back at him, he’d crushed them all. 

Agatha could barely stand to make eye contact with him. Tedros had never seen anyone look so terrified before, let alone a  _ bride _ . For a second, he’d been truly concerned she was going to collapse, or make a run for it, so the way she’d clawed back her composure and kept it, even if it had wobbled a few times, was impressive. He’d have just cried on the spot, he thinks. 

He hadn’t realised everything right away. All Tedros had thought at the time was that a) she had pretty eyes and he definitely loved her and b) she looked terrified and c) he needed to kiss her and he really didn’t think she was going to be impressed. 

He’d tried to be less enthusiastic than he felt, so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Still, he didn’t think she’d been mad-- she’d grabbed his doublet and he’d pretended like he couldn’t feel her shaking. He’d tried to look as reassuring as possible. 

Then he’d looked at the crowd. 

Everyone was looking at Agatha. Everyone except Callis, that was, who was looking at  _ him _ . More glaring, really. Why was she looking at--

It had hit him hard.

The cradle in flames.

_ “They said I was really lucky to not have been cut by any of the collapsed cradle.” _

_ “Yeah. You were really lucky.” _

His eyes had swung to Vanessa, sat primly in the front row, hands folded in the lap of her repulsive blue gown, eyes fixed firmly on her daughter.

And if the temperature in the cathedral had dropped, no one had really noticed. 

Tedros sits and stares at Agatha for a minute longer. After so long of not being able to see her face, being able to just stare at her like this feels like he's doing something wrong. He still feels as if he's not allowed. He knows he  _ is _ , but at the same time… he's still not completely convinced Agatha wouldn't still prefer to be going around with the veil on.    
But it’s hard not to look. 

She’s not much like Sophie and Vanessa, Tedros decides. He’s spent enough time glaring at Vanessa to be able to make the comparison. Agatha has much sharper, longer, more striking features. Her eyes are bigger, as well. They all have the same face shape and set of the mouth, but the left side of Agatha’s is dragged down from where it was cut. 

Still, the scarring really isn’t so bad. Tedros knows she didn't believe him when he tried to tell her that yesterday, but it's true. It just makes him sad; he hopes it doesn’t hurt. She’d said it didn’t, but he doesn’t know whether she’s telling the truth. 

Agatha mutters something and rolls onto her front. Tedros snaps guiltily out of his stupor, thinking she probably wouldn’t take kindly to finding him gawking at her, and goes to preoccupy himself until she wakes up.

* * *

“I thought Beatrix and Dot did your makeup.” she says from behind him, around half an hour later. To his surprise, she’d not said anything when she’d woken up-- he’d noticed her eyes were open in the mirror, but she’d remained silent for a while, watching him draw in his eyebrows.

“Usually, they do,” says Tedros, smudging colour into his cheeks. “But when we left last night, they were both rather drunk, so I thought I’d save them a job when they finally arrive with hangovers.”

Agatha snorts, sitting up and pushing her fringe back, exposing another few scars on her forehead as she does so. 

“Right.”

For someone who supposedly draws power from the sun, she doesn’t seem to be a morning person. She sits and blinks for a minute, scratching her neck and yawning. Tedros goes back to covering his blue lips. It’s oddly domestic. 

Agatha seems to come to life after a moment. 

“What are we meant to be doing today?” she asks. “Receiving elaborate gifts from hungover nobility who passed out in the Orangery?”

“I’m sure we’ll get to that at some point.” sighs Tedros. “But I think today we’re mostly at our leisure, except--”

“Deciding what story we’ll spin to the press about me.” realises Agatha, the mirth sliding from her face very abruptly. “I remember now.”

Tedros frowns. 

“Why don’t we just tell them the truth?”

“Mother will never hear of it.” scoffs Agatha, flopping back onto her pillows. “Makes her look bad. Besides, the  _ whole  _ truth requires admitting we’re both scary magic freaks to the whole world.”

Tedros looks uncomfortably at his blue hands on the vanity. 

“Yeah. Well, we’ll see what the courtiers say, but you could always pretend that it was too close to the fireplace--”

“Which then raises the question as to how I wasn’t burnt into a crispy baby ember.” says Agatha, examining her nails, which Tedros had painted orange the previous night. Tedros winces. She ignores him. “No, best to leave the fire aspect out entirely.”

“Right.” says Tedros. “But you said to the Empress of Putsi--”

“What I said to the Empress of Putsi will already have been dismissed as addled trauma-induced memories by my loving mother.” says Agatha, staring at the ceiling. “No, they’ll just release something vague about a freak childhood accident, and then claim I’m horribly insecure about it, hence the veil, no matter what else gets suggested.”

“By  _ they  _ you mean Vanessa.” says Tedros, standing from the vanity.

“I suppose,” says Agatha, “But she’s got your best buddy Weatherford wrapped around her finger, so it is multiple people.”

Sensing he’s irritated her somewhat, Tedros turns worriedly to look at her--

The door slams open. 

“You two better be decent, because I’m already hungover and I don’t want  _ another  _ headache-- oh, good, you are.”

Beatrix totters inside, Dot trailing behind her.

“Had a fight already?” Dot yawns, clearly noticing the tension.

“We were discussing Vanessa.” says Tedros. 

“Ah. Invokes a rage response in everyone.” nods Beatrix wisely. “Where’s your shirt, snowdrift?”

Tedros looks down at his bare chest. Suddenly Agatha’s awkwardness makes more sense.

“I took it off so I wouldn’t get foundation on it,” he says. “Whilst I did my  _ own _ makeup.”

“If you’re looking for gratitude, you won’t get it.” says Beatrix, swaying over to Agatha. “Your lovely new bride is thirty million times more effort to prep than you ever are. Do something useful, like pick yourself an outfit, won’t you?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk to me like this.” sighs Tedros. 

“Yeah, you are a pushover,” agrees Beatrix, shoving Agatha out of bed. “Pick something for Agatha, too, or we’ll be here until dinnertime.”

* * *

The meeting about the press release is hellish, obviously. 

Agatha has veiled herself again, much to Tedros’s uneasiness-- he’d bothered her about it on the way down, but she’d brushed him off-- and she’s had very little to say, so far. In all honesty, this is mostly just a fight between Callis and Vanessa, with Weatherford, a few nobles who’ve been clued in about the situation, Beatrix and Dot, and the Gavaldon delegation sitting awkwardly around them. Hort is staring out of the window. Sophie isn’t even  _ here _ . Hester is glaring at the back of Vanessa’s head, Anadil is doing the same from the left, and Chaddick looks nervous. 

“After what Agatha said to the Empress of Putsi, that version of events has spread through the nobles staying in the palace.” says Vanessa. “Of course, it’s not  _ true,  _ so we need to stop it before it gets out by presenting a more truthful version that won’t cause trouble.”

“Suggesting I lied to her?” says Agatha in her first contribution thus far, crunching something from the basket of snacks they’d been brought.

“It wasn’t the _ complete  _ truth, dear.” says Vanessa. 

Tedros is  _ very  _ sure that Agatha teeters on the edge of saying something very rude, but just about stops herself. 

“What I said to her,” she says loudly, rummaging through the snack basket. “Is that a cradle collapsed on me when you were with me. Is that not true?”

“The way you worded it implies I was neglectful, dear.”

“ _ Implies.”  _ mutters Callis. 

“Lady Netherwood, you are still under my employ, I bid you to hold your tongue.” snaps Vanessa. 

Tedros’s courtier’s heads swivel like they’re at a tennis match. Agatha starts offering food to Hort. Tedros suspects her obnoxious snacking and subtle digs are irritating Vanessa much more than she’s letting on.

“What would you have me do?” asks Vanessa, clearly trying her best to appear reasonable. “The people of both kingdoms will want to know why you chose to wear the veil for all these years.”

Agatha is silent.

_ Chose. _

Tedros’s hands curl on the table. 

“You’re still  _ wearing  _ it, dear, even though there’s no real point to it.” continues Vanessa. “We need a sensible solution to this.”

Agatha still remains silent. Vanessa sighs, turns to Weatherford--

“I thought you would prefer it.” says Agatha. “You know, since you made me wear it.”

Vanessa’s head snaps back to her. 

“I did no such thing.” 

Agatha doesn’t respond. Everyone looks at one another. This is the bit that most people weren’t sure about, and it appears they have an answer. Not Agatha’s choice at all.

“You  _ chose  _ to wear it today.” says Vanessa emphatically. 

“Today, yes.” says Agatha. “I’ve found that I prefer it when my mother doesn’t spend hours staring at me with disdain.”

Hort’s eyebrows shoot up, and Weatherford looks uncomfortable. Callis is smirking. Tedros thinks they might be getting closer to the truth.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” says Vanessa sharply. “This is just your own insecurity manifesting. It’s alright, dear, I’ll tell them that I suggested it after you were worried about going out in public with a wounded face--”

“I’m going to tell them what I told the Empress of Putsi.” says Agatha

“You are  _ not!”  _ barks Vanessa. 

“Why, because you’re worried everyone won’t love you once they find out you stood in the corner and wailed like a wounded cat whilst Callis pulled me out?” sneers Agatha. “You’re worried people won’t fall on their faces for you? You’re worried people might start getting suspicious about what happened to Prince Stefan? Well, don’t worry. I’ll say I misremembered, and you weren’t there when it happened, and you were very upset. I’m sure you can manage to pretend that’s true, can’t you? I’ll pass off the veil on the court, saying they were worried about people knowing I could be frail. Unlike you, I’m not completely without sympathy.”

There’s a horrible, too-long, silence. 

Vanessa draws herself up.

“ _ I  _ was going to--”

“Who cares what you were going to do?” snaps Tedros, suddenly. “This meeting is over.” 

Everyone turns to stare at him.

“...what?” says Vanessa.

“My Queen has made her decision, therefore this meeting is over.” says Tedros.

“Tedros--” begins Weatherford. 

“I said this meeting is  _ over,  _ Joseph! I wish to speak to Queen Vanessa alone.”

Vanessa looks at him. 

“I don’t see what we have to discuss, your majesty.”

“Clearly.” says Tedros. “Everyone else, out.”

He glances over at Agatha, and although he can’t see her face, he doesn’t think she’s adverse to his decision. She stands and makes for the door without a word, Callis following her. Vanessa remains seated, staring at him with a very unreadable expression. 

Tedros waits for the door to be shut behind Weatherford, before he stands and goes to the window, needing to look somewhere other than Vanessa.

“Whilst you are a guest in my court, I would have you behave properly to the Queen.” he says, not bothering to look over at her. 

“I said nothing improper.”

“I mean generally, and not only in how you  _ speak _ to her.”

Vanessa sits silently for a minute. 

Then;

“She may be your wife, but you forget she is my daughter.”

“So you’re allowed to treat her terribly?” asks Tedros dryly. Vanessa doesn’t respond. Instead, she says;

"No one will believe this ridiculous account.” 

“Why?” says Tedros. “Because you plan to present her as a bewildered victim of a childhood accident to everyone who will listen to you, until you can discredit her? To save face?”

It’s a gamble, based on what Agatha had said earlier and the look on Vanessa’s face when Agatha had made her decision, but he appears to have struck something. 

Vanessa pauses. Then she starts to speak, and Tedros is struck by her intensity. 

“You are very young, boy-King. You think this is easy. You think if you tell the people the truth, everyone will feel sorry for Agatha, and everyone will hate me, and everything will be just as you want it. But it’s  _ not  _ the truth, is it? The truth would require telling people about the  _ magic _ , something that you and your court have been struggling to conceal for years. You think you’re so much better than me, but is that true? You’re still lying to them. The truth would require admitting that Agatha did it to herself.”

“You could have saved her.” Tedros says, chilled by the self-assertion in her voice, as if she truly believes it’s Agatha’s fault.

Vanessa barely seems to hear him. Her voice is rising. 

“I have been playing this game for much longer than you, boy. I know what it’s like to strive to keep your people on your side. You rely on good looks, charisma, and your people not knowing you’ve the potential to be a monster. You can’t keep it a secret forever. You  _ need  _ your people to love you, and the longer you hide this, the worse the trust they have in you will shatter. No one will cheer for you at tournaments, people will back away from you at events, mothers will hide their children--”

“You’re crazy.” says Tedros, bewildered. “You’re obsessed with your image. No matter what my people think of me, I’ll still work to protect them. Can you say the same?”

Vanessa smiles vaguely at him. 

“How can you be sure you can do that? One accident at the coronation, more here and there, temperatures dropping when they shouldn’t be, little accidents with ice that you can laugh off… for now.”

“I’m not on the ivy anymore.” says Tedros. “Agatha can teach me to control it.”

“Ah yes, Agatha this, Agatha that.” sniffs Vanessa. “You love her, don’t you?”

Tedros clenches his jaw. 

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I think she--”

“I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say.” snaps Tedros. “I want your word you’ll leave her alone and stop trying to control her.”

Vanessa shrugs. 

“I can do nothing, now she’s your Queen. You can override anything I tell her. So can she, though she doesn’t seem to have realised that yet. Still, as her mother, I suppose I have a modicum of influence…”

“Some mother you are.” Tedros sneers. “Any influence you have is convention, not respect. She doesn’t love you.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” snaps Vanessa, suddenly. “I don’t care! I never wanted her anyway!” 

Tedros looks at her.

“You’ll have nothing more to do with her, not if I have anything to say about it. Do you understand?”

She doesn’t answer. 

“Do you  _ understand?” _

“I understand.” says Vanessa coldly, staring hard at him. 

“You will have no influence in my court while I am King.”

“I understand.”

“Once the ceremonies are over, you will return to Gavaldon.”

“Once I am no longer needed for ceremonies or processions, I will return.” agrees Vanessa, face blotchy with suppressed anger. 

“I’m glad we understand one another.” says Tedros.

Vanessa just gazes at him. Tedros glares back at her, fury welling in his chest--

“It was me who spread those rumours about you, by the way. I thought you should know.”

Vanessa’s face goes slack with shock.

Tedros turns away and makes for the door, marching down the long assembly hall as fast as he can, desperately trying to control himself, knowing if she says one more thing, he’ll explode--

He’s nearly at the east door before Vanessa speaks again. 

“I left her in that crade on  _ purpose _ .”

Tedros whirls back to her. Vanessa stands right where he’d left her, chest heaving and fists clenched. 

For a second, they stare at one another.

“Get out.” says Tedros. 

Vanessa opens her mouth--

Tedros doesn’t give her the opportunity to say another word.

“GET OUT,  _ GET OUT _ ! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU 

EVER AGAIN, AND IF I DO, I’LL HURL YOU FROM THE KINGDOM MYSELF YOU HATEFUL COW, GET OUT! OUT, OUT,  _ OUT-- _ ”

The temperature in the assembly room plunges as Vanessa flees, and Tedros, shaking with fury, follows her--

He reaches the door and finds the original group, plus Sophie and Yara, clustered against the opposite wall, all clearly having been eavesdropping. 

Breath steaming, Tedros watches Vanessa disappear down the corridor. 

He will be rid of her if it’s the last thing he does. 

* * *

“Nice to hear her finally admit it.” says Agatha from the doorway of the practice room. 

“I’m glad you’re taking this seriously.” mutters Tedros, lowering his sword.

Agatha has never been in this part of the castle before, and she wanders in with feigned interest. Really, she doesn’t care what the knight’s practice room looks like, but she needs some buffer before she can admit she followed Tedros to thank him. 

“Well _ ,”  _ she says. “I’m not surprised.”

Tedros’s arm drops to his side, and he turns helplessly to her. 

“ _ How?” _

Agatha ignores him.

“Why do you bother with all this sweaty training stuff?” she asks, watching a patch of sweat freeze on his neck. “You don’t need it.”

“Until I know how to use my magic properly, I’d prefer to have another method of defending myself.” says Tedros. “Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining at the tournament.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, even though her veil is still on, and settles herself on one of the benches near the wall. She suspects he really just came here to blow off steam, since trying to kill Vanessa was out of the question, if very tempting. 

She watches him carefully return the sword to its scabbard and set it back in the rack by the wall. She’d been startled by the absolute rage Vanessa had invoked in him, she has to admit. Everyone had jumped when he’d started shouting. He was easily irritated, but it was always superficial. The way he’d shouted at Vanessa had been a genuine, guttural, fury.

And it was all because of what Vanessa had said about her. 

It had stung. Everyone around her had gasped. Except Callis. Callis hadn’t done anything except tighten her hold around Agatha’s shoulders. 

Grimacing, Agatha looks out of the window, trying to think of something else--

And then remembers. 

_ You love her, don’t you? _

_ Yes.  _

“Did you hear  _ everything?” _

Agatha looks up at Tedros, standing in front of her, gloveless and shirtless. His nails are still painted the messy, blotchy blue she’d done last night. She’d thought he’d take them off, since they were so badly done. 

“Yes, I heard all of it.” says Agatha. 

Tedros looks pained. 

“I’m sorry she said all of that about you.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking of.” says Agatha, standing so she’s on the same level as him. 

Tedros looks at her. 

“What were you thinking of?”

_ That you said you loved me. _

“That you’re sending my mother home.”

_ Damn it. _

Tedros smirks slightly. 

“I said I’d do it.”

“I was impressed that she agreed. I thought she’d put up more of a fight.” admits Agatha, fiddling with her skirts. 

“She was odd.” says Tedros. “She seemed almost... unhinged.”

“What’s new?” snorts Agatha. “We all realised  _ that _ once she agreed to that ugly blue gown at the wedding.”

Tedros laughs. Agatha looks at him, watching the crooked set of his grin and the creases at the edge of his eyes. 

She sighs and pulls her veil off, headpiece and all. 

Tedros doesn’t do a good job of concealing the little flash of enthusiasm that dances across his face. 

“I hate that thing.” he says, flattening her hair for her. 

“I know.” says Agatha. 

They stand for a minute. Then Agatha says;

“I lied.”

Tedros’s face falls slightly. 

“About what?”

“I wasn’t thinking about sending my mother away, though I do appreciate that.”

“Oh.” Tedros frowns worriedly. “What was it? Was it about her making you wear the veil? Because I’d already guessed that, I think most people had, so it’s okay, we know it wasn’t your choice--”

Agatha opens her mouth to interrupt him, but she can tell it’s not going to work. Instead, she presses her fingers against his lips to get him to shut up. 

It works-- immediately, Tedros goes quiet. 

“Not that, either. Stop talking.”

Tedros nods earnestly.

“I said I heard everything. That included the bit where you said you loved me.”

Tedros’s eyes go wide, and immediately he starts talking again. 

“I didn’t-- I mean, I thought you’d probably guessed, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to pressure you, I promise I haven’t just been going around telling people, I didn’t know you were all still listening, I just wanted to… to… I don’t know, I didn’t want to say  _ no  _ because it’s not true, and I think I wanted to make her feel bad, I-- what?”

“Oh,  _ Tedros _ .” says Agatha, endeared and exasperated in equal measure, knowing this is exactly how he’s going to be forever, and finding that she doesn’t care in the slightest.

She kisses him.

She can tell Tedros has been waiting for this, because, immediately, he flings an arm around her waist and pulls her into his arms, putting his other hand in her hair to keep her close to him. Agatha kisses him harder, slinging her arms around his neck, fully aware that his bare chest is flush against the embroidered bodice of her gown. This is better than the wedding, more genuine-- her mind is no longer dulled with panic and misery, and she is sure now, sure that the boy she is kissing is as kind and good and earnest as she’d hoped he was. 

She focuses on his cold lips on hers and how he smiles into the kiss, hand roaming her back as she brushes her hands through his curls--

Tedros breaks it. 

“Last night,” he mumbles, still so close to her they might as well have still been kissing. “I heard you say--”

“I know what you heard.” says Agatha, “And it was true.” 

She kisses him again, and again, and again, until she’s breathless and his hands are burning cold, almost stinging through the fabric of her dress. There’s just them, and the smell of scorched fabric from the shoulders of Agatha’s gown, and the frost on Tedros’s chest and the way Tedros laughs when she steps on her gown as they stumble back to the wall--

“For fuck’s sake, no wonder no one could find you.”

Agatha jumps so hard she hits her head on the wall. Swearing, she looks over Tedros’s shoulder to find--

“Oh,  _ Callis,  _ you could have announced yourself--”

“No no, I’m leaving!” declares her nursemaid, already half out of the door. “You can miss dinner for all I care, you’re a married woman and you can do what you want, as long as I don’t have to deal with it--”

Cackling, Agatha stumbles after her, wiping Tedros’s makeup off her face. 

She doesn’t turn around, but she doesn’t need to, because she knows Tedros is following her.

* * *

“I want to tell the people about my magic,” says Tedros, that night. 

Agatha, on the very edge of a very comfortable dream, is jolted immediately awake. 

“ _ What?”  _ she squirms in Tedros’s grip until he lets her sit up. “Is this because of what Vanessa said? You’re just letting her get to you.”

“She has a point.” says Tedros, gazing at his blotchy hands. “I can’t keep it a secret forever. Maybe you can, but I don’t have good enough control.”

“You can  _ get  _ good enough control.”

“Maybe eventually.” says Tedros. “But I still feel dishonest. Surely they deserve to know.”

Agatha grimaces. 

“Well. Maybe, but…”

She trails off. Maybe her mother  _ did  _ have a point. Besides anything else, it was impractical to try and hide it forever, and almost certainly impossible. 

“But she wants it to ruin your reputation.” she says. “You realise that, surely?”

“If I do it properly, it won’t.” says Tedros. “If I gather a group of representatives from across the kingdom, and some of the nobles who are still here for the wedding, and explain we kept it a secret until they were sure I wouldn’t be killed or kidnapped to use as a weapon…”

“Someone tried to kill you very recently.” points out Agatha. Tedros brushes her off. 

“They’d understand. I could prove I can control it, all of the old generals would be all over it, since they’d think me undefeatable in battle. I’ve spent eighteen years without incident.”

“Without  _ public  _ incident.” reminds Agatha carefully. 

“You don’t agree?”

“I…” Agatha looks away, for a minute. This is a very naive move, and a very dangerous gamble on Tedros’s part. Vanessa does value her reputation too much, but she’s not wrong to worry about it in general. Tedros could end up making himself look like a threat, and it would raise so many questions, including ones about her. Lots about her, in fact, too much to just brush off…

Oh, Vanessa was going to kill her. 

She looks down at him.

“Fine.” she says. “But I’m doing it with you. And we’ll put the explanation for the veil with it.”

* * *

It doesn’t go down well.

Weatherford said it was a suicide mission and tried to forbid it, Vanessa looked furious, Callis grimaced (but agreed), Sophie was horrified, and Hester cackled and said it was a terrible idea, they should do it. 

Beatrix and Dot are the only ones who think it might work.

“We were both terrified when it was explained to us.” says Beatrix as she laces Agatha into her gown for the day, “But we came around to it pretty fast, especially because Tedros was like, ten, and cried when we said we were scared of him.”

Tedros shoots her an unimpressed look from where Dot is doing his eyebrows. Dot, though, has yet to announce an opinion. 

“Dot?” prompts Beatrix. “What do you think?”

Dot purses her lips, hands flying over Tedros’s face. 

“Well,” she says, in a determinedly fixed voice. “I think it’s a good idea, to be honest with the people...”

“What’s the  _ but?”  _ says Beatrix. 

“Will Teddy need us anymore?” asks Dot in a small voice. 

Beatrix’s hands freeze on the laces of Agatha’s dress.

There’s a pause.

“What do you mean?” frowns Tedros. 

“We were hired to hide your appearance.” mumbles Dot. “If it stops being a secret, there’ll be no point.”

Beatrix bites her lip. Tedros stares at them both. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” says Agatha. “He’s too vain to go around with white hair.”

Beatrix smiles, but Tedros hasn’t said anything yet--

“Did you not  _ think,”  _ he says, very deliberately. “That the reason I promoted you both was because I wanted to make sure you’d be able to keep your positions? Because you’re my friends?”

A beat. 

Then Dot bursts into tears, grabs his head, and plants a kiss on his cheek that effectively ruins most of her work over the past few minutes. 

“ _ God,  _ don’t do that!” barks Beatrix, but she’s grinning, and Agatha finds herself relieved, as well.

* * *

They settle into a routine as they build up to the meeting-- Weatherford has grudgingly issued summons to the people they need from the town, and the nobles they want there have been held back-- Reena, the Emperor of Avalon Tower’s niece, the Empress of Putsi, the King of Foxwood, and various other key allies. Tedros and Agatha train in the gardens or in the Eastern Gallery, and Agatha confesses herself pleased by how Tedros is doing. 

They also scour the library for any book that could be useful, and eventually chance upon one, in the very back of the section on magic history, that explains more about them. They sneak it upstairs and huddle under the covers to read it, the only place they’re sure they won’t be overheard and their weaknesses exposed.

“ _ Less of a magician and more of a vessel for magic, the humans who become spirits must work incredibly hard to maintain control of the magic. If wounded, frightened, or overwhelmed, the human vessel may become unable to control the magic as it becomes insistent on protecting the human host it inhabits, especially if it has been suppressed or unused for a long while. As such, some human spirits, especially untrained and young ones, have been killed when they lost control of their magic, as the magic used is too much for their body.”  _ reads out Agatha.

“Grim.” says Tedros. “Poor kids.”

“It does seem like we’ve been quite lucky.” says Agatha. “Listen to this:  _ some vessels have been killed by their magic clashing with parts of their human body-- water users drowning themselves by accident or manipulating their own blood, air users choking themselves, earth users trapping themselves and suffocating, hearts giving out under the effort of using immense amounts of magic...  _ looks like being human gives us limits, especially lungs.”

Almost unconsciously, she touches her throat. She’s not had any coughing fits for a few weeks, now, but the threat is always there. 

“Does it say anything about that, anywhere?” asks Tedros, following the motion. Agatha shakes her head. 

“I’ve never seen another fire spirit documented. Callis and I got all of our information from records about a storm spirit, since lightning was the closest we could get to fire. Either I’m the first, or I’m the first to live long enough-- or prominently enough-- to be documented.”

“Huh.” Tedros marks their page and tosses the book onto his bedside table. “Well, food for thought. We don’t go nuts and lose control.”

But it’s clearly gotten to her, because Agatha has that dream again. 

She is drowning. 

Just like last time, the water doesn’t hurt as it usually does, but it is uncomfortable against her skin all the same, tight and almost compressing. 

Again, she writhes, struggling against the clothes weighing her down; the fur-lined cloak, the heavy boots. Again, she is close to fainting, when she will be forced to open her mouth. Again, she flails harder, struggling to reach the surface. There is someone standing there, looking down at her. She doesn’t expect them to help. They are the reason she is drowning--

Except this time, she can see them. 

Her mother stands on the bank, gazing dispassionately down at her. Agatha stares at her, shocked. Did she push her? Dragged her here? What is happening--

Again, there’s movement on the surface of the water, but this time, her brain registers what it is. 

It’s ice. 

When she opens her mouth to scream, and the water rushes down her throat.

She wakes up coughing, and Tedros is shaking her, hands so cold against her abdomen that they’re almost hissing. 

“God, Agatha, please wake up, you’re going to be sick if you keep this up--”

Agatha scrabbles upright, and Tedros pulls her against his chest, trying to keep her as cold as possible, until it finally abates and she’s left heaving and sobbing over his shoulder. Tedros cradles her against his chest until she can breathe properly, but she’s definitely scared him, because she can feel him trembling just as hard as she is. 

“What the hell was that?” asks Tedros finally, rubbing her back as carefully as he can. “Can you talk?”

Agatha just about manages to wheeze out an explanation, by the end of which, Tedros is even colder. 

“You know I would never do that.”

“I know.” croaks Agatha. “But…”

She can’t manage an explanation, but Tedros seems to follow her train of thought. 

“You think she’d trick me into it, or force me to lose control, or something?”

Agatha nods vaguely. Tedros frowns, smoothing her hair absently. 

“Well, I wouldn’t let her. I’d sooner stick an icicle in her, in fact. Maybe it’s just one of those weird symbolism dreams. Like you think Vanessa is weaponizing me with this magic reveal thing, so your dream reflects that.”

“I don’t think that.” sighs Agatha, wiping her running nose. “But sure, maybe it’s symbolism.”

“Sure.” Tedros kisses her temple. “Try and get some sleep, we’ve got a tax meeting tomorrow.”

Agatha plays along, but she doesn’t sleep, not for the rest of the night. 

She’s not sure she believes him. 

* * *

Despite his assurances to Agatha that it’s just symbolism, when Vanessa approaches them the day of the meeting, and proposes a walk by the lake before they go in, Tedros’s blood runs cold. 

There’s no way she could know, of course, because she doesn’t care about Agatha enough. And yet…

“Consider it a peace offering.” she says. “Also, I’d like to speak to you before the meeting begins.”

Tedros, fiddling nervously with the fur on his cloak, looks at Agatha. He sees her stiffen, and knows she’s thinking down the same route as he is…

“I’ll go, if it’s brief.” he says. “Agatha, go on ahead.”

Agatha looks at him, but she doesn’t argue. She squeezes his hand and brushes past Vanessa, heading for where Callis is waiting. Vanessa just politely indicates for him to go ahead. 

Suspicious, Tedros leads the way down to the lake, eyeing the two guards following them. They’re young, he doesn’t know them well, but he could easily take them in a fight, if it came to that. 

Vanessa trails across the grass in her pink gown, until they’re on the highest part of the bank, next to the deepest part of the lake. Tedros stops, reluctant to go further until she’s explained what she wants. Vanessa turns to him, and smiles.

“I wanted to discuss the things we left unsaid, in our previous argument. So I can make things right.”

Even more wary, Tedros just looks at her. 

“I didn’t leave anything unsaid.”

“Oh, I know.” says Vanessa. “I was glad to get confirmation of a few things.”

“...like what?”

“Well, you admitted that you loved my daughter, for one. And, another, you think I have too much influence in your court.”

Tedros stares at her. 

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t.” says Vanessa. “When you asked if we understood one another… well, you didn’t understand  _ my _ meaning.”

Tedros stares at her, combing desperately back through his memory, trying to work out what was said…

“I’ll remind you, dear.” says Vanessa. _“You’ll have nothing more to do with her, not if I have anything to say about it._ _You will have no influence in my court while I am King. Once the necessary ceremonies are over, you will return to Gavaldon._ You set yourself up, really.”

“What, you’ve got another assassin--” begins Tedros.

Then he realises.

He’d meant to mock her, but...

Vanessa’s obsession with public image. How determined she was to look like Agatha’s perfect mother. The confirmation that she and Tedros loved each other. Her letting the meeting go ahead. Her influence over Weatherford.

It all makes sense too late.

Inexplicably, he has a moment of complete, thoughtless calm.

“You’re going to kill me.” he says softly, staring unseeingly at her. “And use Agatha to control Camelot.”

Of course she is. Yes, of course.

Vanessa smiles at him, empty eyes. She’s completely mad, he realises. Why couldn’t he see it before?

“Well, it’ll be passed off as a tragic accident I couldn’t save you from.” she says. “And my daughter will be crippled with grief, of course, so she’ll need… _support_ from me. And since you have no children, she will have to remain on the throne, unless she chooses to abdicate, which I can assure you, she won’t.”

The guards by her don’t react. Of course they don’t. Chaddick has been warning him of this for months, now. They’re not all loyal. He’d been too preoccupied to think about it. How many other courtiers and guards has she recruited? How many frustrated or irritated old nobles who see an opportunity for more favour?

Tedros stands and stares, frozen with shock. All this time, he’d thought Vanessa was a stupid, vapid woman who only cared about herself. But she isn’t stupid or vapid in the slightest.

“How long have you been planning this?” he asks, starting to subtly work at his gloves. 

“I admit, I thought Agatha would kill you by accident.” sniffs Vanessa. “I thought she’d be far more powerful than you. After the wedding, I hoped. But once I realised you cancelled one another out, I had to make… other arrangements. Let’s make this quick, then.”

She raises her hand, and the guards around her step forwards, drawing their swords. Tedros raises his hands, and they hesitate slightly. 

“She’ll kill you.” says Tedros quietly to Vanessa. “See if she doesn’t.”

Vanessa smiles. 

“She’ll have a hard time, given I’m going to start spiking  _ her _ drinks from today. And I think you might find it difficult, too.”

Tedros’s hands dip, slightly. 

“I stopped taking the…”

It occurs to him how often his drinks have been served to him, recently. 

“Weatherford’s in on this.” he says. “He’s been spiking my drinks.”

For some reason, this is the biggest blow.

“ _ Joseph _ .” snorts Vanessa. “No, he’s not, the stupid boy. He genuinely cares, bless him. I merely told him to make sure you kept taking the ivy, and I would convince you it was a bad idea, and show you how you were a threat to the country, to the people, and…”

She turns back to him. The guards advance closer, and Tedros shakes his hands, trying to get his magic to work, furious at himself for not noticing how it was becoming harder, for becoming cocky about his control, for not practicing as much--

_ “To yourself.”  _ says Vanessa.

Tedros realises too late.

The dream.

Not Agatha. 

Not Agatha at all. 

Vanessa shoves him off the bank and into the lake.

Tedros flings his hands up, and spikes of ice erupts from the surface as he slams into the water, but it’s too little, too late. 

Tedros crashes into the lake, feeling the temperate plummet the second he hits it, and he struggles for the surface, thinking if he can just get above it, he could--

But he’s forgotten the guards.

There they are, leaning over the bank, and their hands close around his shoulders, legs and hair, and force him under the water. They’re not going to stab him, or beat him up, or strangle him.

They’re going to drown him.

He’s going to drown. 

_ “Looks like being human gives us limits.” _

He’s going to  _ die.  _

Genuine, primal fear explodes in Tedros’s chest, and the water responds. He can hear the crack and rush of the water as it starts to freeze from the sides inwards, see the ice forming on the surface, and he struggles to hold his breath, lungs burning, thrashing desperately. But they just push him further down into the water, only letting go once he’s too far down, and the ice rushes further in, and, and, and--

Not only is he going to die, he's going to freeze himself under the surface.

Tedros struggles harder, and the ice crawls towards him, he can feel it on his legs and arms, tight as it freezes to him, and he’s sinking further, pulled down by his boots and his cloak, and he's trying to break it with his fists but he can't because his magic is too powerful, it's too thick, he can’t control it because he’s panicking and he’s on the ivy and he needs to calm down so he can get rid of it but he can't because he can't breathe and now he's under the ice and there's black spots in his vision and he has to open his mouth but he can't but he has to  _ he has to _ \--

Tedros opens his mouth and the water rushes in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U H O H S P A G H E T T I O S  
> I apologise that this feels rushed, I was going to split it into two chapters but I didn't really see the need, or a natural place to split it, so I just kind of made it one big one. Gaps will be gone back over and filled back in tho dw I'm not soman. happy days guys! bet you can go back to those trailers now and be like "...oh so that's what that clip meant" eh??? lmao. bet tedros pushing vanessa off that tower is looking more and more likely by the minute, but keep in mind he tends to be honest so. how is she gonna hop off this mortal coil? stay tuned! pfft


	21. burn

Sophie Aldridge is a good daughter.

At least, that’s what her mother thinks. 

Vanessa has become even more fawning recently, probably because Agatha has started to shake her off. She’s presented Sophie to nobles at dinners, bought her new gowns, included her in gossip and hasn’t mentioned their disagreement at the wedding once. Not that it had been  _ much  _ worth arguing about-- Sophie merely agreeing that she thought Tedros disliked Vanessa, slightly too loudly, was not worth carrying on about, since it has done no real damage to her reputation. Yes, Vanessa displays all the hallmarks of a doting mother, even if her status  _ as  _ Sophie’s mother is meant to be a secret.

But Vanessa is not a good mother to _Agatha_. It’s ironic, really. She spoils her illegitimate daughter and spurns the legitimate heir even though, practically, spoiling Agatha would be a million times more beneficial. But, therefore, Sophie is more than _a_ good daughter; she’s _the_ good daughter. She’s pretty and sweet and smiles at Vanessa and agrees with her, and she doesn’t have any meddlesome magic to ruin anything. 

And her face isn’t a permanent reminder of Vanessa’s callousness.

If this was six months ago, at home, Sophie probably would have been happy with the current situation. But it isn’t six months ago, at home. It’s today, in Camelot, and she isn’t happy in the slightest.

Therefore, Sophie has no interest in continuing the charade. 

Good daughters don’t spy on their mothers, but that’s exactly what Sophie is doing. 

She crouches behind a weeping willow, lamenting how her skirts trail in the mud, but hoping the drooping branches will provide enough cover for her not to be noticed. 

If confronted, she will have no way to justify why she’s here, watching her mother talk to Tedros. She doesn’t have any kind of concrete proof that it’s anything beyond a simple discussion. She can’t even hear what they’re saying. 

She just has a terrible, terrible feeling.

Vanessa has brought two guards, and they’re not standing with their King-- they’re standing with  _ her _ . Tedros looks tense. Whatever Vanessa is saying, he doesn’t like it. 

She says something else, and Tedros’s face drops completely. For a second, he just stares, face blank. He says something back. Vanessa nods, probably smiles from the stretch of her cheek. Sophie tenses. Whatever pleases her mother, and displeases Tedros, can’t be good. 

There’s a rustling noise behind her, and she whirls, but there’s no one there she can see. She stares for a minute, wondering if someone’s noticed her--

The sound of swords being drawn behind her snatches her attention back to the lakeside. The two guards have their weapons out, and have started to advance on Tedros.

On  _ Tedros.  _ Their King. 

Yes, she was right to worry. 

Sophie leaps to her feet and creeps closer, slipping past the trees, straining to hear what they’re saying. No one is moving, and Tedros has raised his hands, but Sophie doesn’t think it’s a surrender. 

More like a threat. 

She exhales slowly, stopping behind a closer tree. His magic, of course. The worst-kept secret in the court. Even if she hadn’t had Agatha to tell her everything-- ivy, gloves, cancelling out-- she’d have probably figured it out herself. 

But why isn’t he using it?

Confused, she strains to hear the conversation.

“She’ll kill you,” Tedros is saying. “See if she doesn’t.”

_ She?  _ Agatha? 

“She’ll have a hard time,” replies Vanessa. “Given I’m going to start spiking her drinks from today. And I think you might find it difficult, too.”

Sophie takes a second to understand her meaning, and so does Tedros--

They realise at the same time. 

Tedros’s hands dip down as he realises.

“I stopped taking the…” his eyes widen. “Weatherford’s in on this. He’s been spiking  _ my _ drinks.”

“ _ Joseph _ .” snorts Vanessa. Sophie is frozen behind her tree, unable to fathom what she’s hearing. A conspiracy, by the sounds of it. “No, he’s not, the stupid boy. He genuinely cares, bless him. I merely told him to make sure you kept taking the ivy, and I would convince you it was a bad idea, and show you how you were a threat to the country, to the people, and…”

The guards advance closer. Tedros is shaking his hands, clearly trying to get his magic to work--

_ “To yourself.”  _ says Vanessa.

It happens too fast for Sophie to react.

Vanessa lunges and shoves Tedros into the lake, and then rears back as icicles erupt from the surface. The guards fling themselves onto the bank and stab their hands into the water, holding him down. Sophie starts forward, shocked, wondering how they intend to --

A reverberation stops her in her tracks, and she watches in horror as the edges of the lake start to freeze over, impossibly fast. Creaking, the ice skirts the perimeter of the lake, and then starts to sweep inwards, crawling across the water’s surface. 

Sophie stands, stupefied, as the entire lake starts to freeze. What can she do? This is nothing natural, nothing she can control. It’s all Tedros. But--

Cursing, Vanessa staggers back to her feet and marches over to stand with the guards. Sophie ducks back into the cover of the trees.

“He’s fainted.” informs one of the guards, wrenching his hands out of the rapidly freezing water. 

“We’re done, here.” says Vanessa, gathering her skirts to leave. Already, there’s a barely ten foot circle of actual water left on the lake, and even that is ringed with paper-thin tendrils of ice, growing quickly. 

Vanessa turns dismissively away and starts briskly back up the path to the castle. The guards follow.

Shaking with the effort of staying still, Sophie counts to thirty, watching them disappear into the east wing...

Then she lunges from behind the tree and starts to run towards the lake. It’s too far to get help, but if she can get to him before everything freezes, he might still have a chance.

But before she can reach the bank, the sound of someone else running rushes up behind her, and Sophie’s grabbed from behind and flung aside, sprawling into the grass and jarring her ankle.   
“ _ Move _ , I’ll get him!” barks an unfamiliar voice, and Sophie bolts up, indignant, to find a stranger rushing onto the bank, swinging a spear from his back.

“Who are--”

“Sophie, it’s alright! I know him, he can get him out--”

“ _ Hort _ ?” Sophie looks up, bewildered. “What--”

“We followed Vanessa. Same as you, by the looks of it.” says Hort, helping her to her feet. “Ravan said he knew something was wrong, was furious Tedros would be so stupid as to go off with her alone…” he looks at the lake, forehead crumpled with worry. “Perhaps we should have been faster.”

And then there’s a sharp, reverberating crack, like a gunshot, and the rest of the lake freezes over. 

For a second, they all stand, stunned. Then the stranger-- Ravan-- snarls in irritation, takes the pike, and rams it into the ice. Once, twice--

The whole section shatters. Immediately, he’s on his knees, stripping off his jacket and snatching great chunks of ice out of the water, flinging them across the rest of the lake. He smashes a few more portions of the ice and repeats the process. Then, once he’s made a big enough opening, he jumps in. 

“Will he get him?” demands Sophie.

“He’ll get him.” says Hort. “But whether he’ll get him in  _ time…” _

The statement hangs.

Sophie finds herself starting to shiver. For a minute, she thinks it’s shock, but then she notices how dark the sky has become, and the white flecks starting to land on her arms.

“Hort.” she says. “It’s snowing.”

A biting wind slashes through the trees. Hort and Sophie look at each other.

Unseasonal weather for spring.

But before she can say anything else, Ravan surfaces, dragging Tedros with him.

He all but throws him onto the bank, and Sophie and Hort sprint over. Together, they strip off his sodden cloak, boots and cloak-- it’s not as if the cold will affect him, but they can see the frost already sticking to his back and it would be better if he wasn’t frozen into his clothes--

“What’s wrong with him?” demands Sophie, stopping short at the appearance of his face. 

“Never seen him without makeup before?” coughs Ravan. Sophie shakes her head. Hort kneels over Tedros and leans down.

“Ravan, he’s not  _ breathing _ .”

“I know.” Ravan laces his fingers together and moves Hort out of the way, clearly intending to try and resuscitate Tedros.

The first compression clearly breaks a rib, because Sophie hears a sickening crack. She looks away hastily, and finds herself staring at the sky-- clouds so dark they’re almost black. The snow is coming down thicker, now, and the wind has picked up, smacking snowflakes into her cheeks and sending them stinging across her arms. 

A freak snowstorm, when the weather has been mild for the past two weeks? Soon, people will realise that something is wrong. _Agatha_ will realise something is wrong. Something about the storm _itself_ feels wrong _._ It’s not natural. It has a frantic, muddled feeling to it-- the snow swirls too hard and sticks too fast, and there’s too much of it. Not created by nature, but by the hysteria of a drowning boy and his magic--

She’s brought back to the present by the sounds of Tedros throwing up.

Relief bursting in her chest, she watches Ravan roll him onto his side as he retches, disgorging water. He coughs and hacks until he seems to have thrown up all the water there is, but he doesn’t seem to come around-- he twitches and makes a vague noise of distress, but remains unresponsive.

But despite the restoration of his breathing, Ravan doesn’t look happy. He’s still leaning over Tedros, and he’s frowning deeply, as if whatever he hears is troubling. 

“Will he be alright?” presses Sophie. Ravan doesn’t reply, reaching over and prising Tedros’s mouth open.

His expression goes dark.

But, in the same movement, he stands, hauling Tedros up with him disturbingly easily. He barges past them, starting at a run towards the castle, and Sophie and Hort rush after him, bewildered and frightened.

“Where’s his wife?” demands Ravan, raising his voice over the howling wind. 

“Agatha? The ballroom!” cries Sophie, staggering after him. “Don’t we need a doctor? I can get Agatha, but--”

“No doctor can fix this.” says Ravan grimly. 

They run towards the Eastern tower.

* * *

“It’s snowing!” says someone.

Agatha’s head snaps up. 

She’s been sitting here for at least twenty minutes, and Tedros has yet to make an appearance. Vanessa had returned a few minutes ago, looking perfectly normal, and had passed off Tedros’s non-appearence with some wishy-washy claim about collecting records. No one in the court had seemed to think much of this, even going so far as to make some joke about it being common. But the other Woods leaders and the townspeople-- representatives of the everyday subjects-- huddled together at the end of the table, had seemed more uncertain. 

“Snow?” says Weatherford sharply. “In this temperature?”

He has a point. It’s been relatively warm for the last few weeks. 

“Freak storm?” offers someone further down the table. Several people get up to go and look out of the high windows. Agatha sees Hester and Chaddick, stationed at the end of the hall, look quickly at one another. 

Agatha turns back to Vanessa, dread starting to drag its fingers down her spine. 

“Mother. Where’s Tedros?”

“Perhaps we should begin.” says Vanessa, as if she hasn’t heard her. 

_ “Where’s Tedros?” _ repeats Agatha, more aggressively this time. “You were last with him. Where did he go?”

“I’ve already told you, dear.” says Vanessa distractedly, pouring herself a glass of wine. “Probably just taking a minute to find what he needs.”

Agatha stares hard at her for a minute, trying to discern anything off in her manner. There’s nothing she can see. 

Frustrated, she stands and marches over to one of the windows--

There’s a roar of wind, and several people jump away as a squall rattles at the window panes, making the shutters bang. Agatha stops, staring at the huge snowflakes smacking against the glass, the gardens beyond almost completely obscured by snow in less than twenty minutes. 

No, this is no freak storm. 

She whips back to Vanessa--

Then, somewhere in the castle, someone screams.

They’re joined by someone else, and then someone else, and the sounds of shouting and running feet are added to the mix. 

“What--” begins Anadil--

A bone-rattling toll makes everyone jump, and Agatha cringes back, the strike reverberating through her bones. Somewhere in the depths of the castle, bells are starting to ring, and it’s not the languid, single-bell toll she’d heard at her wedding. 

It’s the clamorous rattle of the emergency bells she’d last heard when… when…

When Tedros was nearly murdered. 

The screaming and running is getting closer, and Agatha finds herself frozen to the spot. Another assassin, this time coming for her? Have they already gotten to Tedros? Or has he gotten away? Maybe this storm is the result of that, or--

The doors are rammed open.

Hort and Sophie are inside first, both damp and muddy, heaving for breath. Agatha scans them desperately for visible injury, but there’s nothing she can see-- no blood, no limping, no nothing. They’re accompanied by a seemingly random assortment of people-- nobles, servants, maids, stable boys, a couple of gardeners-- and the tall, red-eyed boy Agatha had seen at the wedding.

She tenses. Tedros’s assassin. Why would he be--

And then she sees who he’s carrying. 

Everyone else starts to scream, too.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind, Agatha remembers those stupid little lists they’d made, back in her sitting room.

_ (Number six- Keeps accidentally messing with the weather in the kingdom.)  _

The snowflakes batter at the window panes.

Agatha doesn’t know whether she meant to go over to him or not, whether she’d wanted to run, or walk, or even if she’d tried to go anywhere at all--

Only that she takes one step and her legs buckle. People shout, and Callis and Sophie just about manage to catch her, but as Ravan crouches and, surprisingly carefully, sets Tedros onto the floor, Agatha can only stare, a silent scream caught in her throat. 

Never,  _ never _ has she seen him like this. 

Tedros is frostbitten so badly he looks violently bruised, frost blighting almost every inch of his skin.  _ (Number two- Even hot water freezes eventually when touched, and number three- Looks scary without makeup.)  _ His hair has bleached to white, so white it looks almost translucent, and the second Ravan sets him down, the floor starts icing over. 

“What  _ happened?”  _ cries Beatrix.

“Attempted drowning.” says Hort loudly. “His magic went into overdrive and froze him under the lake.”

The realisation smacks Agatha so hard she jerks, physically. The dream. 

Not her.

_ Tedros.  _

So, if the dream really happened, that meant that-- that meant that, on the bank--

She can’t think. Almost everyone is shouting, and Dot is crying, and Sophie is trying to get her to stand up, and Callis--

Callis is gone from her side, instead kneeling over Tedros, talking urgently to Ravan and examining Tedros closely.

“We need a doctor, not a nursemaid.” snaps Weatherford, rushing to cram himself next to Callis, but his white face betrays how shocked he is. 

“I was the apothecary’s apprentice for my entire life up until I became a nursemaid.” says Callis coldly. “In the absence of a real doctor, I will do fine. Agatha!”

Agatha barely responds.  _ Not Tedros.  _ Not Tedros, barely eighteen, who wore flowers on his face and spent his birthday at an orphanage and had developed the stupidest, most earnest, most inexplicable crush on her without having ever seen her face, who--

Callis comes marching over and shakes her, none too gently. 

“ _ Agatha.  _ The water got into his lungs and it’s freezing. It will suffocate him unless you melt it, you understand me?”

Agatha doesn’t respond, shaking so hard she’s making Sophie tremble, too--

And then she does. 

She surges to her feet, snatches her skirts up, and all but runs after Callis, taking the distance in three or four strides. She flings herself down before Tedros, rips her gloves off, and slams her hands onto his chest, over his lungs, trying to raise her body heat as fast, and as violently, as she can. It’s not hard-- she doesn’t think she’s ever been this frightened in her life, and her magic is responding. Still trembling, she shifts so she’s as close to him as possible, and waits desperately. He’s breathing, but very shallowly, and it’s clearly a struggle.

Behind her, she can hear people whispering;  _ \--magic? Ice? What’s wrong with her veins?--  _ but it only feels like background noise, nothing compared to what’s happening now--

Then Tedros starts convulsing. 

Agatha tries to pull her hands away, but Callis doesn’t let her, and Agatha watches, terrified, as he chokes and gurgles, clawing at his throat--

A horrible combination of bile, water, and  _ blood  _ splatters the flagstones, dribbling from his mouth-- then shards of ice, scarlet-stained and knife-sharp, dribble from his mouth, clattering on the stone floor. 

“What’s happening to him?” cries Agatha. 

“It’s not all melting.” says Callis slowly. “The water is bringing ice with it, it’s cutting his mouth and throat.”

“But what if it--”

“Pierces his lungs?” anticipates Callis.

Callis and Agatha look at each other. 

“I don’t know what we’d do, then.” admits Callis quietly. 

_ (Number four-- Swallowing water v. uncomfortable.) _

The ballroom has fallen silent, apart from the toll of the bells and Tedros’s gasping breaths-- 

A sudden quake makes everyone stagger, and Agatha looks up to see spikes of ice bursting from the steepled roof of the ballroom, more starting to replace the beams and dragging down the pillars.

_ (Number three-- Not very good at controlling magic.) _

“This isn’t conscious, is it?” says Sophie weakly, watching the ice shift along the roof. Agatha slowly shakes her head. No, it’s not. It’s too muddled, too chaotic. It’s a subconscious reaction by his magic, trying to defend its vessel, just like the book had said. 

Tedros starts retching again, shaking so hard his head knocks against the floor, more bloody water seeping from his mouth. Agatha increases the temperature, praying his magic will remain matching hers, and she won’t burn him…

Then Beatrix asks what they were all thinking.

“ _ Who did this _ ?” she demands. “Hort? What happened?”

There’s a pause. 

Slowly, Sophie, Hort and Ravan turn to stare. 

Agatha doesn’t.

She already knows who they’re looking at.

Unbelievably, Vanessa laughs airily. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I  _ saw  _ you push him!” hisses Sophie, starting to her feet. “You’ve been spiking his drinks so he can’t control his magic, you knew he’d freeze himself under the water!”

“I think you’ll find that was Joseph’s role.” says Vanessa calmly. 

_ (Number seven- Only just come off of ivy-- might get more powerful?) _

Everyone turns. Weatherford is exactly where he’d been, knelt next to Tedros’s feet, and he looks stricken. Tedros is throwing up more water, and his breaths have turned shuddering, speeding up and becoming more frenzied.

“I didn’t-- you only told me that it would be for his own good-- I had no idea that you’d try and... try and  _ kill him _ !”

“He did this to himself.” says Vanessa.“You can’t prove I  _ pushed  _ him.”

“All three of us saw you.” says Ravan coldly. 

Everyone starts shouting again, and Agatha turns, about to finally speak up--

Something snags her veil.

Agatha spins back around, and finds that Tedros has caught the end of it between his fingers. One of his eyes is open the smallest bit, a slit of bloodshot whites and blue only just visible. Agatha stares at him, breathless. He makes a weak gesture and his hand slips slightly on the fabric. He looks desperately confused, and she can see his gaze darting wildly.

But Agatha realises what he wants. 

With shaking hands and the overwhelming urge to cry, she pulls her veil off. 

She doesn't think he could smile even if he wanted to, but he doesn’t need to-- before his hand drops he presses his fingers, shaking madly, to the scar next to her mouth. Agatha snatches his hand and plants a fierce kiss on it, then leans down and presses her cheek to his cold, frost-riddled one. If she doesn't say it now… when will she? 

“ _ I love you, _ ” she whispers desperately, voice shaking almost as hard as he is. Tedros digs his purple nails into her hand and whimpers in fear. Agatha swallows hard, fighting back a wild, hysterical sob--

“ _ Well _ !” cries Vanessa suddenly, her voice suddenly cutting through the clamour. “ _ Well _ ! May as well just come out with it!  _ I tried to kill him! _ I tried to kill the stupid boy. Agatha will be forced into the position of Dowager Queen, and she’ll need support, won’t she? I can fulfil that. I can! Everyone will love me, then. They don’t love me now, but they will.  _ They will! _ ” Her voice rises, cracking randomly. “I’ll be the  _ true  _ Queen.” She scans the room. “So few of you! Twenty witnesses aren’t so hard to dispose of, not when it all looks like a tragic,  _ uncontrolled,  _ accident.”

The room rumbles again, and out in the castle, more people start shouting. Agatha shakes Tedros, trying to get him to stop, but he seems to have slipped back into unconsciousness. 

“You didn’t count the guards.” says Dot bravely. “Or the nobles.”

“Ah, them.” says Vanessa. “About that.”

The conversation at the wedding. 

Agatha turns--

“The guards are on her side,” she says hoarsely. “So are the nobles.”

A second. Agatha looks at the people still on her side. 

_ “Run.” _

It seems that they’re still willing to take an order from their queen, even under these circumstances. They do, sprinting for the doors... 

And the whole hall explodes. 

Five of the eastern side guards charge for Hester and Chaddick, knocking them over and forcing them to the floor, despite Chaddick’s bellowing for them to stand down. Half a dozen more burst through the doors and force the townspeople back, even bullying back the Woods representatives. The guards stationed at the back of the hall come running forwards, and the nobles--

Hands seize Agatha from behind and start trying to drag her away, towards the doors where they’re taking those disloyal to Vanessa. Nobles she recognises, people from Tedros’s court-- the Chancellor, the Secretary of the Treasury, the three noblewomen who had fawned over her wedding dress-- all of them and more turn on them, towing them towards the doors, horrifying far from where Tedros still lies, helpless. Weatherford remains beside him, shell-shocked. Agatha kicks and bites and tries to burn, but they keep her hands firmly affixed behind her back, throwing her into the wall. Callis, Beatrix, Anadil, Dot, Hort and Ravan get the same treatment, and even… 

“I expected better from you, Sophie.” says Vanessa softly, stopping in front of her daughter. “It seems I was wrong.” 

Agatha holds her breath, waiting for Sophie to grovel, to beg for forgiveness and side with Vanessa like she always has…

She doesn’t.

“Go to hell.” says Sophie dispassionately, and spits in her mother’s face.

Even though it’s completely inappropriate, Agatha lets out a wild cackle of triumph--

Vanessa backhands Sophie as hard as she can. Several people gasp, and Beatrix grabs Sophie to steady her. Vanessa marches away, wiping her face furiously.

“Guards!” she shrieks, as the guards and nobles form a line a little way away from Agatha and the others. “Keep them here. Restrain the Queen. First, we need to finish what we started.”

She glances at Tedros. Everyone catches her meaning. 

Agatha starts forward, but the nobles block her path, holding swords to her throat. She raises her hands, veins returning to a rich orange, and they hesitate, suddenly fearful… but apparently, someone gets brave. Before she can summon a flame, one of the guards grabs her by the hair and throws her backwards, drawing his sword back to strike. Agatha regains her footing, snaps her fingers for a flame--

Even years later, Agatha will never be able to forget the sound. 

Behind them, Tedros lets out a terrible, choked wail, and a wall of solid ice erupts between Agatha and the nobles. 

Agatha is knocked back onto the flagstones by the force of it-- it bursts from the stone, cracking a huge fissure in the floor, surging upwards to the roof in a matter of seconds and lurching to the walls just as fast, screeching against the wood and the stone until it settles, heaving frost and steam, between them.

Agatha leaps to her feet and slams her hands against it, but it’s solid, completely frozen. The guards make a similar movement, but quickly give up and turn away... back to where he’s lying. 

Frantic, Agatha feels for a break in the wall. What was he  _ doing?  _ They could get to him and no one could stop them! Chaddick and Hester were still restrained, and everyone else was behind this damned wall!

Looking through the cloudy ice, she can suddenly see him, visible between a gap in the guards. He’s just conscious again, looking right at her, and...

Something slips from his cheek and clatters against the floor. 

_ (Number five- tears freeze once out of body.) _

She understands, then.

He’s trying to save her, even if it means he dies himself. 

The guards start to circle Tedros. Agatha turns to the people behind the wall. 

“Run.” she says, finding herself eerily calm. “Go. Get out, now. Get to safety and tell everyone what’s happening. Find a doctor. A good one. The best. You understand? _”_

The townspeople clearly do, bashing open the doors and fleeing down the corridor almost immediately, ushered along by the Woods leaders who seem to have understood the gravity of the situation. Beatrix runs after Reena, and Ravan goes stoically with them, casting a grim glance over his shoulder. Hort and Dot reluctantly follow.

“Agatha--” begins Callis. Then she stops, as if realising something. “Come on.” she says, turning to Sophie and Anadil. “Quickly, now.”

“But--” 

“She’s going to bring down the wall.” says Callis. 

Sophie’s eyes widen, and she grabs Anadil’s arm and starts pulling her away.

“But Hester--”

“Hester can look after herself, for the moment.” snaps Callis, following them, and pulling the huge doors shut behind her. 

Agatha exhales slowly. Good. They, at least, will be safe from what she’s about to do--

The sound of swords being drawn echoes behind her, and there’s no time to do anything slowly anymore. 

Agatha turns, the image of Tedros’s desperate face in her mind, and slams her hands against the ice, releasing all the anger, the fear, the resentment and self-loathing she’s felt over the last few months, the last few years, her whole  _ life-- _

The wall hisses, steam billowing everywhere, and water runs down Agatha’s arms. She barely notices, face twisted into a snarl, and she forces more and more heat into her hands, veins glowing so bright they’re sure to burst into flame, like molten metal, the depths of a forge.

There’s an immense cracking sound, like something being snapped in two. Vanessa and her cronies turn, apprehensive. The wall splinters, fractures--

With a scream, Agatha flings her arms wide and the whole thing explodes. 

The guards and nobles fling themselves to the floor as ice shoots across the room, scattering into every corner and embedding itself into walls.

They’re barely back on their feet when Agatha steps over the crack in the floor. 

“Never mind him!” screams Vanessa from the flagstones. “Never mind! I’ll get the throne anyway!  _ KILL HER!” _

“You tried!” shouts Agatha, lighting her hands.  _ “You tried!” _

Behind them, Tedros is coughing again, and now there’s definitely more blood than water. 

So, mercy is not on Agatha’s mind when her first assailant reaches her. 

He barely stood a chance; she ducks his swing, lights her hand, and grabs him by the collar. He screams as his doublet catches light, inexplicably fast, and flings himself to the floor, nearly stepped on by the next wave of guards coming for her. Agatha makes a violent slashing motion, expelling fire so quickly and aggressively that it blasts them all backwards, knocking them onto their backs. Wreathed in flame, turns for her next opponents; three guards, all sprinting towards her. She snarls and swipes diagonally, splitting them up as they dive out of her way, forming a circle around her. 

Foolish of them. 

Agatha spins, skirts fanning out, and brings her hands around with her, sweeping her fire in a circle-- before snapping her arms outwards and blasting these men away, too. As she slows, she notices that the outer skirt of her dress is on fire.

Ah, well. She didn’t like this one anyway.

She heads at a run for the guards restraining Hester and Chaddick, selecting two fingers instead of her whole hand, this time. Better for precision, which she needs to avoid injuring them. She sends the first guard sprawling, deliberately aiming for his feet, and shoves the second one so hard she leaves a melting dent in his breastplate. The third gets her shield fused to her arm-guard, and the fourth gets blasted backwards into a pillar. The fifth flees, scrabbling away, and Agatha lets him, turning to Chaddick and Hester--

Hester barely has time to shout a warning before Agatha’s knocked off her feet.

Her head glances off the flagstones, and she lands in water that’s at least an inch deep. Gasping, she tries to roll over, but the guards who tackled her grab her arms and drag her, deliberately towing her through the water-- the water  _ she’d  _ created, melted ice-- and dropping her at Vanessa’s feet. Dizzy and disoriented from a combination of the fall and the water, Agatha looks vaguely up at Vanessa, who is finally back on her feet.

“Get rid of her, now.” says Vanessa coldly. Behind her, she hears Chaddick yell, and the clash of blades, but it’s unlikely either he or Hester will get to her in time. Weighing up her options-- attempting to fight whilst in water, or just going for good old brute force?-- Agatha takes a breath...

And feels a horribly familiar catch in her throat. 

Oh, how cruel. Did her magic have any respect for her at all? In any aspect? Was she to die hacking her lungs out on the floor? 

For some reason, all she can think is how  _ irritating _ that is. 

She doubles over, struggling for breath. Vanessa sighs-- despite her lack of interest in Agatha, she must recognise the symptoms. 

“Well, that makes things easier. Quickly, now.”

The guards draw their swords. Mind racing, Agatha wipes her hands desperately on her skirt, trying to get rid of the water so she can--

One of her rings catches her attention. Not her wedding ring, or her signet ring, but the very first one Tedros had ever given her. 

The dragon crest.

Agatha stops trying to inhale, because something has occurred to her. Her chest stings, aches,  _ burns,  _ but she doesn’t breathe out, because she’s had a thought. An insane one, but a thought.

What if she tried to--

“ _ Now,”  _ Vanessa hisses--

Through the guard’s legs, Agatha catches sight of Tedros, muttering something through bloodied lips… and she  _ recognises _ the formation of the letters, from the sheer amount of times he’s said it before. Usually in admiration, or enthusiastic greeting, or when he said it at the wedding, or any of the countless other times he’s said it, or--

He’s trying to say her name.

Agatha puts her head back and  _ howls  _ in rage, letting her chest burn,  _ burn, burn--  _

Until, with a roar, a column of flame explodes from her mouth, clawing into the open air and bursting forth, rocketing towards the ceiling. Everyone around her sprawls onto the stone, and Agatha staggers to her feet, spitting embers and smoke. The nobles most loyal to Vanessa rush towards her, and a few guards, but they’re a paltry nuisance, now. She snatches the remnants of her flames from the air and draws them out like she’s unsheathing a sword… then thrusts her hands forwards and lashes it out like a whip.

The remaining nobles fall with screams, the smell of burning hair and fabric trailing after them, clutching faces or hands or necks. Agatha steps over them and stalks forwards, snatching her flame around her side and letting it lash out again, and again, and again, the reach getting longer and the heat more intense every time. Everywhere she steps, the water hisses and shrivels away, bursting into clouds of steam, and Vanessa’s cronies tumble to the floor, wailing in pain. Soot-streaked guards flee for the doors, and nobles back away. Agatha ignores the vast majority of them, letting them run. She’ll get their names out of Weatherford, later, but, for now, she’s looking for…

She turns and sees her approaching too late. 

With a scream, Vanessa crashes into her, knocking them both to the ground. Agatha kicks and bites as Vanessa scratches at her, screeching, completely unhinged now, utterly beside herself. Agatha grabs her hands and tries to push her off, Vanessa snatches them away and tries to get her hands around her throat. Agatha takes a breath, intending to try and breathe fire again-- 

But it’s unnecessary, because Vanessa is simply--and suddenly-- torn from Agatha, so aggressively that the older woman nearly headbutts the floor, kicking and wailing as she’s bodily snatched away by-- by--

Callis drags Vanessa across the floor by her hair, letting her flail and scream, before kicking the french doors open and throwing her out onto one of the high balconies. Agatha sits up, pushing her hair out of her face, and finds that chunks of it are coming away, burnt, in her hands. Great. She’s going to have to beg Beatrix to fix it. 

Looking across the hall, it’s carnage-- the huge crack in the floor where the ice wall had erupted, noblemen and guards groaning on the floor, more staggering out of the doors, random patches of ice sparkling on the pillars, the ceiling, even out on the balconies. A lot of people have snuck back in through the doors-- Ravan, Dot and Hort are absent, but Beatrix and Sophie are hovering, stunned, and several townspeople have shuffled back in, with similar expressions, touching the newly iced pillars and gazing at the ceiling. Even as they do, there’s another distant rumble--

Then Agatha sees Chaddick go running across the hall, and remembers who’s causing it all.

* * *

“He’s still breathing.” says a white-faced Weatherford as they approach. “Just.”

“Why are  _ you  _ still here?” snaps Agatha, barging him out of the way and kneeling next to Tedros in her ruined dress. 

“You can’t  _ seriously _ believe that I had any idea what was going on--”

“Clearly you didn’t, else you might have been useful.” growls Chaddick, as Agatha stoops over Tedros. He’s no longer choking or convulsing, but his breathing is scarily loud, and laboured.

“I can’t believe this.” says Chaddick faintly. “I should’ve gone with him, I knew there was unrest--”

“There was no way you could have foreseen what was going to happen, especially as it happened so quickly.” says Agatha sternly, even though she’s been harbouring the same regrets.

Callis comes to stand over them, brushing her hands off. She looks grimly down at Tedros, for a moment.

“Guess he’s not in any state to decide what to do with Vanessa.” she says.

* * *

When Agatha steps out onto the balcony, it’s still snowing hard as hard as it had been when Sophie had been at the lake, maybe even harder. Everyone else crowds in the doorway behind her-- townspeople, servants, random palace staff who’d been told what was happening and rushed to see, guards still loyal to Chaddick, noble guests who’d remained for the meeting... Chaddick and Hester have even carried Tedros with them, more because he started getting agitated when Agatha stood to leave, than any hope he might be able to deliver a verdict. Sophie is sat with him, trying to keep him calm and to make sure he doesn’t stop breathing. The palace doctor is on his way, but he’s having to fight his way through the blizzard.

Vanessa stands on the end of the balcony, right foot on the stone and the left dragging idly over the ice that’s replaced the other half of the floor. Agatha looks down at her, lacing her narrow flame between her fingers. She looks very queenly, Sophie thinks, even with chunks of her hair and gown burned off, the chemise beneath riddled with holes and soot. The snow melts the second it hits her.

“You won’t kill me.” Vanessa says. She looks a mess-- makeup running everywhere, hair ruined from where Callis had dragged her, gown ripped and burned. Good. Touching her bruising face, Sophie sincerely hopes that Agatha will. Being burned to death would suit the witch that she was.

“No,” agrees Agatha. “I won’t. But you’ll still stand trial, and you’ll be exiled from both kingdoms if you’re found guilty. That means giving up your crown.”

Something sparks in Vanessa’s maddened eyes. 

“And  _ you--” _

“I will take your place, yes, that’s how succession works.” says Agatha impatiently. Vanessa’s smile slides into a snarl, and she stamps her foot like a petulant child.

“That will  _ never  _ happen. I--”

“You’ll what?” snorts Agatha. “No one here will help you, now. The nobles who have already will be thrown out, as will the guards. And as for home… well, you  _ know  _ they only pretend to like you, for the most part.”

“That’s not true!” cries Vanessa. She starts to pace, sliding slightly on the ice. Callis, leaning on Agatha’s shoulder, snorts at the sight of her. 

“Listen,” says Agatha. “Just come quietly, and--”   
“I  _ refuse  _ to be imprisoned like some commoner!” shrieks Vanessa. Agatha sneers. 

“I’m not putting you back in your rooms, they’re too easily escapable.”

“Oh, yes, you would know, wouldn’t you?” lashes Vanessa. “Stealing that painting like you did. I should have known Sophie would cover for you.”

“Yes, I had the audacity to steal an unauthorised painting of  _ me  _ from your rooms and destroy it, how terrible of me.” snaps Agatha. “Either you come quietly or you get dragged to the dungeons. Either way, you’re under arrest.” 

“You can’t arrest me!”

“I’m the Queen of Camelot, which is where you currently are.” says Agatha sourly. “I absolutely can.”

Vanessa stalks back and forth, muttering furiously to herself. Yara and Chaddick look expectantly at Agatha, clearly waiting to be told to grab her.

Tedros shifts, and Sophie looks down--

His eyes are open, and he’s looking right at her. Sophie opens her mouth to ask  _ what,  _ and he turns his head very slightly. She follows his gaze, past Agatha and all the way to Vanessa’s feet. 

Cracks are blossoming in the ice she’s walking around on, and they’re growing fast.

Sophie’s head snaps back down. 

There is a very clear question in Tedros’s eyes. 

Slowly, Sophie looks up at Agatha-- at her scarred face, at the bruises from where the guards and Vanessa had grabbed her. She touches her own smarting cheek. Listens to the squeaking, struggling sound of Tedros’s breathing.

She looks back down at him. 

“You admitted in front of numerous witnesses that you tried to kill the King.” Agatha is saying. “I don’t think you’ve got much of a chance of being found not guilty.”

Vanessa turns furiously on her, and Callis steps forward, shoving Agatha behind her and hounding Vanessa into the corner-- Sophie tenses, but Agatha immediately pulls Callis back.

“Don’t, just leave her-- last chance, Vanessa.”

“Won’t you even acknowledge me as your mother?”

“Only when completely necessary.” says Agatha coldly. Vanessa leers, but she doesn’t say anything else, just looks down at the semi-conscious Tedros, who gazes vaguely back at her.

“Think he’ll see tomorrow?” 

“Shut your mouth.” Agatha says blackly, suddenly very quiet. “Chaddick, take her away.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen as Chaddick and Yara start through the crowd. Clearly, she hadn’t expected Agatha to actually do it. 

“You are under arrest for charges of high treason and attempted regicide, both of which you have admitted to in front of numerous reliable witnesses.” says Agatha coldly, drawing herself up. “Take her to the dungeons.”

They reach for Vanessa--

With a scream,  _ she _ lunges for Agatha and Callis. Callis grabs Agatha and pulls her back, Agatha tries to do the same for Callis--

And Tedros seems to find his question answered, because he turns his head away. 

Sophie’s eyes widen.

The ice beneath Vanessa’s feet shatters.

For a second, Vanessa seems to hang in the air, eyes bugging, mouth open--

Then, with a screech, she plunges through the hole, disappearing from view, wailing all the way down--

There’s a sickening thud, followed by the sound of something breaking, and a splash. 

“The lake.” whispers Weatherford. 

For a minute, there’s no sound but Tedros’s squeaking breaths, and the howl of the wind, and the ringing of the bells. Agatha and Callis clutch one another, shocked. Sophie’s jaw sets. Everyone else stands, white-faced...

Then Tedros starts to choke violently, blood and water spurting from his mouth, and everyone rushes to his side as he twitches and spasms--

But his eyes are open, and, as they carry him away, Sophie finds that it sounds much, much more like laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "burn" haha roll credits  
> I did add tags for all the semi-gory stuff w Tedros but I apologise if you were freaked out!


	22. epilogue

“That’s-- that’s  _ it _ ?” splutters Nicola. “That can’t be it!”

Tedros looks unimpressed. 

“I don’t do well speaking for long periods of time, and I’ve given you the basics.” he says. He does sound hoarse by now, Nicola has to admit. “Besides,” he adds, “What else is there to tell?

Nicola looks at him, aghast. 

“What  _ else?”  _ she springs to her feet and begins to pace. “What happened to  _ you?  _ What about Ravan? Weatherford? How did everyone react to your magic? Why does everyone think Agatha is a  _ hostage? _ ”

Tedros snorts.

“Well, I clearly didn’t die.”

Nicola frowns at him, unimpressed.

“ _ Clearly _ , but did the ice pierce your lungs?”

“No, just made a mess of my throat and mouth.” Tedros swings his legs down from the armrest of his throne and turns to face her properly. “I could barely speak at Agatha’s coronation. It didn’t matter, mind you, because I--”

“Turned up in a suit of armour made from ice and everyone was too scared to talk to you anyway?” interrupts Nicola. 

“Oh, people still remember that?” A rather smug expression crosses Tedros’s face. “Another one of those  _ old tales?  _ Hmm. Good.”

_ Good  _ is not the word Nicola would use, but she doesn’t comment. 

“What about the rumours you’re holding Agatha hostage?”

Tedros fixes her with a rather condescending look. 

“You tell  _ me _ , Pipp.”

“...made up by Rhian on the back of that story, based on the fact she’s here relatively often and he wants people to be scared of you?” 

Tedros grunts in assent and goes back to picking his nails.

“I don’t understand how it can have been mangled so quickly.” Nicola muses, despite Tedros’s clear lack of interest in continuing. “It can’t have been  _ that  _ long ago. How old are you? Fifty?”

Tedros’s head snaps up, and he scowls at the estimate.

“Forty-eight.”

Nicola gawks.

“It was only  _ thirty  _ years ago? That doesn’t make any sense!”

Tedros replies in markedly worse humour, clearly offended at having been aged two years; 

“It was mangled with an older, existing tale as part of a propaganda campaign by Vanessa’s allies. Originally it was only a comparison in an article, but in the end, it merged, and people tend to forget the original. Since I remain largely out of the public eye, it was easy for people to make me a myth.”

Nicola has a million questions--  _ why didn’t you protest the comparison?  _ being the main one-- but she doesn’t pitch them. Instead, she says;

“Why did Ravan save you? What happened to him?”

Tedros rubs his beard, considering. 

“He never gave me a straight answer, and fled the country before I was properly recovered. He did try to kill me, after all, and I think he thought he might get the Vanessa treatment. I don’t know where he went, but Hort goes on  _ holiday  _ to Thicket Tumble extremely often, so I have my suspicions. But if I were to guess, I would say our shared history made him feel guilty about having tried to kill me the first time, and in the end he decided Vanessa was a bigger threat to the kingdom than I was.”

“...I see.” Nicola sifts through her questions, still finding herself bewildered. “What about Weatherford?”

“Fell on his face, grovelled, and eventually resigned once I had found a suitable replacement for him.”

“How about that girl, the one Agatha saw amongst the well-wishers? Morgan?”

Tedros sighs deeply. He looks rather tired. 

“How many more questions do I have to answer? Agatha went and found her, in an attempt to learn more about people like us. She was woefully undertrained, even worse than I was. She’s a member of her court, nowadays. Researcher.”

“And the people?”

“They came around to it.” says Tedros. “There was a lot of enthusiasm around the idea that I could be so useful for defence in times of war, but mostly they were just glad Vanessa hadn’t murdered me and flung the kingdom into a succession crisis. Took a long time to regain their trust, though.”

“And Gavaldon--”

“Were secretly glad to see Vanessa go, as any person with an active conscience would be. And it seems that Vanessa hadn’t done as good a job covering the situation with Agatha up as my parents had.”

Nicola draws breath--

“Oh, please, no more.” groans Tedros. “You already know more than almost everyone outside of my kingdom.”

“But--”

“Is that sufficient for your spying? Hmm?”

Nicola freezes, cursing herself. She’d become so caught up in her own interest in the story she’d completely forgotten what she was supposed to be doing, but Tedros clearly hadn’t. 

She swallows, throat dry.

“I find it highly unlikely you’re just going to let me walk out of here, and take all this information back to the twin Kings.”

Tedros doesn’t say anything, clearing his throat and scratching frost from his fingers. Nicola looks hard at him, struggling to find any trace of the boy he’d described. There’s very little to show for it. He seems to have given up on dyeing his hair and beard, because both are a very pure, intense white-- not from age, but from magic. He’s definitely still wearing makeup, and remains broad-shouldered and strong, but his demeanour is anything but earnest. More like scornful.

“What are you going to do?” she demands bravely, once it’s clear he won’t respond. “Put an icicle through me? Dump me up on the mountain and make it look like I froze to death? Or--”

“How old are you, Pipp?” Tedros interrupts, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Nicola stares at him. 

“...nineteen.”

“Nineteen.” repeats Tedros slowly. “You’re the same age as my eldest daughter.”

Unable to see how this is relevant, Nicola glances around, wondering if she can make a break for it. Even though Tedros hadn’t  _ directly _ killed Vanessa, he and Sophie had let it happen, and he’d laughed about it…

“Oh stop  _ twitching _ won’t you?” says Tedros suddenly. “I’m not going to  _ kill _ you.”

Nicola turns back to him, bewildered.

“What?”

“Did you listen to anything I just told you? Do I seem like I’m in the habit of murdering children?”

“I’m not a child.” says Nicola, offended. 

“Yes, you are.” dismisses Tedros. “Where did those bastards find you, eh?  _ Pipp _ doesn’t sound like a Foxwood surname to me.”

“...it’s not.” says Nicola slowly. “I live in a tiny village on the edge of the forest between Jaunt Jolie and Netherwood. My parents owed a debt to King Japeth that they couldn’t pay--”

“So he took you as a spy and sent you into what he thought was a death trap?” demands Tedros, incredulous. This is the most animated Nicola has seen him so far, which is baffling. She doesn’t say anything, but her face must confirm it, because Tedros laughs-- more genuine, if equally painful-sounding, than the last time. 

“Of course he did! No, Nicola Pipp, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to offer you a job.”

Nicola blinks at him, bewildered.

“...what?”

“You’re the first person I’ve encountered in years who’s shown a genuine interest in my little…  _ anecdote.”  _ says Tedros. “You said that you care more for information than the spying job itself, and I can tell you have no loyalty to either of the twins. Yourself permitting, I’ll take you to Gavaldon with me this evening and tomorrow, you’ll be presented to the Queen as a new member for her research team. We’ve spent years trying to understand the extent of what we can do, and we need as many researchers as we can get our hands on. The library there is brilliant, better than the one here, and now you know everything, I don’t think it’ll take you long to catch up.”

For once, Nicola’s brilliant mind seems to have slowed to a stop. 

“But-- but Rhian and Japeth--”

“They can’t protest without admitting what they hired you to do. You’re not a citizen of their country. What can they do? And Agatha will pay you better than whatever  _ they _ were offering you. You can see your family, too. Of course, you  _ could  _ work in the Camelot branch, but I thought being a member of Agatha’s court might suit you better. Less… rigid.”

Tedros looks expectantly at her. Nicola gawks back at him. 

“I…”

She is ready to say no, to assume this is a trick and try and get out of here alive, but after all she’s heard, all that Tedros has told her… she’s finding it hard to see how it  _ could _ be a trick. The chance to research this story? For a living? It seems too good to be true. She should probably refuse. Yes, she should refuse, she’s going to refuse, she-- 

“I’ll do it.” she says.

_ Damn it.  _

This better not be a trick. 

“Excellent!” says Tedros briskly, and springs to his feet, cracking his neck. “We’ll leave for my lady love in a few hours. Until then, I’ll introduce you to some people, get you some better clothes, that sort of thing, find someone for you to tag along with… yes, I’ll hand you over to Hort, that’ll keep him out of my way--”

“Um-- your majesty, I don’t… know how to… act in a royal court...”

But Tedros is already striding across the hall, no longer listening, grinning broadly. 

As Nicola hurries after him, slightly shell-shocked, she thinks, maybe, that she sees how he and the boy in the story are the same person, after all.

* * *

“Tedros, this is a completely  _ stupid _ move, worthy of your teenage self.” Beatrix tells him, the second he’s finished explaining. 

“She’s no  _ real  _ spy.” rasps Tedros, nursing his aching throat and wishing they’d stop interrogating him, so he can stop talking. “She’s just some kid Rhian and Japeth picked up and tried to get me to kill off for them. She’s the same age as Alex.”

“Alex is 19, Tedros.”

“Still a kid.”

“You were  _ married  _ and had nearly died by then.”

Tedros ignores her. 

“Personally, I think it’s a good idea.” says Dot brightly. “Gets rid of an information source for them, and helps us. She seems like a nice kid.”

Beatrix looks doubtful, but she doesn’t press the point. Chaddick cuts in;

“Asked me thirty billion questions whilst we were waiting for the carriages.” he says, propping his boots up on Tedros’s side of the carriage. “Told her you spent four months drinking everything because you couldn’t eat, and about that one time you sneezed blood on Agatha.”

“Every day, Chaddick, I regret making you an Esquire of the Body.” mutters Tedros.

“Well, boo-hoo.” snorts Chaddick. “Unless you can magically heal my bad knee, my guarding and knighting days are over. I will be following you around for the rest of my life.”

“Your  _ knee?”  _ snorts Beatrix. “That’s your excuse? You’re far too old to be a guard!”

“I am  _ not!” _

“Just because Tedros still looks young, it doesn’t mean  _ you _ do--”

Deciding not to mention that Nicola had guessed he was fifty-- he’ll keep it to himself, since he can already hear Agatha laughing-- Tedros watches them bicker thoughtfully. By now, they’re the longest-serving members of his court-- his closest confidants and advisors. They’d all watched him throw up blood for three months after he was drowned. You don’t get closer than that. 

Tedros sits back and considers his choice to appoint Nicola, watching the Gillkin Mountains that separate Camelot from the rest of the Woods roll by. He doesn’t regret it-- in truth, the idea had come to him the second she’d asked to hear his version of the story-- but her many questions have made him reflect on things he hasn’t thought about for years. Most prominently, Vanessa’s death. 

Oh, yes, he’d laughed. Semi-conscious and terrified and  _ furious,  _ he’d laughed until he’d fainted. Most people had thought he was choking. 

He hadn’t been. 

There’s no way of knowing whether he’d had enough control to save Vanessa. It’s possible that even if he’d tried, it would have been impossible for him to reform the ice. He just knows he  _ didn’t _ try. The second she’d lunged at Agatha, he’d written her off. Why should he have tried to save her? She’d tried to kill  _ him. _ Hateful witch. He wishes he’d have pushed her outright.

They’d retrieved her body from the lake quickly, apparently.

There was a grim sort of justice in that. 

Tedros has never told anyone he’d had a thing to do with it. It had taken him months to be able to talk again, and by the time Agatha was willing to even tolerate the sound of Vanessa’s name, it was too far in the past. It doesn’t matter. He thinks she knows, anyway. He and Sophie always look a tad  _ too  _ vitriolic when Vanessa is mentioned.

(Callis knows. She’d confronted him at Agatha’s coronation, years ago.) 

The sun sinks below the mountaintops. They won’t arrive in Gavaldon until the small hours of the morning, most likely. Dot is already asleep, and Beatrix and Chaddick are both clearly nodding off. There are heavy, grey clouds in the distance. Rain. 

It’ll be snow, once Tedros has anything to do with it. 

He puts his head back against the seat, thinking of lakes and veils and gloves, and eventually, drops off himself. 

* * *

_ “I’ve got you a present.” _

_ Tedros looks over at Agatha, sitting in a heap of faintly reflective golden fabric. Anemone had spared no effort with her coronation gown, and the layers of shimmering gold on top of the black certainly has the desired effect of flames, especially with the train.  _

_ He frowns.  _

_ “Me?” he croaks. It’s her coronation. “What?” _

_ It’s long past midnight, and most of the coronation guests have left or retired, but Agatha seems too agitated to go to bed. She’s taken the crown off as quickly as possible, probably because she’s spent so long seeing it on her mother’s head.  _

_ She pulls something out of a drawer and comes to sit next to him on the sofa.  _

_ “It’s traditional to have a coronation portrait done,” she says, “But I didn’t think I was really… ready for that.” _

_ Tedros thinks of how many people had spent the vast majority of the coronation gawking at her face, and doesn’t find himself very surprised that she’s reluctant. Mildly disappointed, but not surprised.  _

_ “But…” she says. “I said they could do one thing. For you.” _

_ She pulls something from her sleeve and puts it in his hand.  _

_ It’s a miniature portrait of her, done in oils, in a thin golden frame. Tedros stares, enchanted-- it’s tiny, really, fitting easily in the palm of his hand, but it’s almost perfect, accurate down to the depth of her scars and the slightly thoughtful crease of her brow. _

_ “I know I’m not smiling,” says Agatha, plucking at her sleeve anxiously, clearly embarrassed. “I just thought, to get used to it, it would be a good idea to have something small--” _

_ The rest of her sentence is cut off by Tedros kissing her. He can’t say anything anyway, but even if he could, it wouldn’t be enough. _

* * *

The carriage jerks and Tedros is jolted awake. Feeling oddly sentimental, he digs in his doublet and produces the miniature. It’s faded with age, and the frame is chipped in a few places. He has others, more up-to-date ones, but he keeps the most recent one of Agatha and the ones of his children in his study, since their duties to their different kingdoms require them to be away from one another for long periods, sometimes. But he keeps this one with him, because it was the first. 

He must have been asleep for hours, because it’s completely dark, now. A heavy rain is drumming on the roof of the carriage, and the lanterns on the outside are lit. The other three are still asleep. Looking out down the path, he can see they’re on the outskirts of the royal capital, starting to crawl up the steep, cobbled streets-- they’ll be at the palace in fifteen minutes or so. 

The first time he’d visited, for Agatha’s coronation, he’d been struck by how  _ cramped  _ Gavaldon was. Camelot is busy, but Gavaldon is a teetering stack of ancient buildings stacked into a cliff-face before the Savage Sea, with the grey stone castle topping the whole thing off, right at the summit. Agatha has mentioned that it has evacuation tunnels that go into-- and through-- the mountain, which emerge in the middle of Gillikin’s Gavaldon embassy. The castle itself is smaller and stouter than Camelot’s sprawling white palace, but distinctly lacking in the damage he’d done to his. He’d removed what ice he could, but in many cases, he had interfered with something necessary for structure, and had been forced to leave the ice there, sternly reinforced over many years. Almost impossible to break, he thinks. There’s a patch in the third-floor corridor on the West side that everyone falls over on, so they keep a rug over it. But there’s nothing like that in Gavaldon, save the easily-repaired damage that came with trying to train three children who’d inherited their parent’s…  _ talents.  _ Ice for the twins, fire for their elder sister--

“Looks like she’s still awake.”

Tedros glances over at Beatrix, who seems to have been woken by the rattling of the carriage over the cobblestones. Chaddick is still snoring, and Dot’s head is bouncing against the window. 

Beatrix points up at the palace, and Tedros follows her gaze to the light just visible at the top of the western tower. He sighs, then regrets it when it turns into a wheeze. He’s told Agatha a million times not to wait up for him, but she never listens. She’s fallen asleep behind the veil in meetings before. It’s somewhere between hilarious and infuriating. 

At his lack of response, Beatrix frowns. 

“Voice completely gone, now?”

Tedros tries. It is. 

“Ah, well. Gives you an excuse to force someone else to present Nicola, tomorrow.”

Tedros, who had been intending to make Hort do it even if he  _ had  _ been able to talk, grins and decides that’s a lovely excuse.

* * *

“Ugh, can’t you make it snow instead?” groans Chaddick, as they emerge from the carriage into persistent, freezing sheets of rain. Tedros, the rain turning to ice as soon as it hits him, watches the servants sprint from the warm interior of the stables to unyoke the horses, bundled in cloaks as the rest of the carriages clatter in behind them. The stablemaster’s young daughter, Bethany, is hanging around the door, staring at him, probably because he’s got ice plastered to his face. Tedros feels distinctly guilty for making the stables staff stay up this late, but both courts always insist this is the safest time to travel through the Gillikin Pass, since the winds are at their lowest. But it’s 2 in the morning, and everyone is getting soaked to the skin. Several of the youngest stablehands are sloshing along without cloaks, hair plastered to their faces as they carry people’s trunks inside.

Tedros sighs and glances skywards. He’ll have to be careful, to avoid turning the courtyard into a death-trap of an ice rink, but this won’t be  _ natural  _ snow, so he can afford to have it stick a little too easily...

“It’s snowing!” pipes up the stablemaster’s daughter from behind them, scampering out to grab her father’s leg. “Look!”

Why, so it is. 

How convenient. 

* * *

Despite what he and Beatrix had assumed, Agatha is not doing a very good job of waiting up for him. 

As quietly as he can, Tedros takes off his boots and hangs up his wet travelling cloak, trying to discern whether she’s actually asleep or not. The horribly uncomfortable-looking position with a book trapped under her hip suggests yes, but the fact the veins in her arm are still glowing slightly suggests the opposite. These days, the only time they don’t is when she’s asleep or in the bath, because she’s so often operating some low level of magic-- keeping the fire or torches at the level she wants them, moderating the temperature of the room, or trying to override her daughter’s own influence on the nearby fire sources when she gets too excited. 

Tedros skirts the fireplace to avoid accidentally putting it out, and slides an arm under her back, intending to try and move her--

Agatha grabs him by the collar and yanks him down on top of her. 

“Sensed you coming.” she mutters into the pillow. “And heard it stop raining.”

Thinking hearing the carriages arrive also might have had something to do with it, Tedros makes a noise of vague acknowledgement and kisses her jaw, rolling off of her and settling himself opposite. She doesn’t seem particularly interested in opening her eyes. Disgruntled, he extracts the book from under her back. Agatha ignores him.

Tedros scrapes the remainder of the ice from his cheek and throws it at her.

Agatha cracks an eye open, grinning. 

“What, are you just going to pelt me with snow? Not going to complain about the journey-- ah.” They widen fully. “Knocked your voice out again, haven’t you?”

His lack of response confirms it. Sighing, Agatha sits up and props herself on his chest, laying one of her hot hands gently across his throat. 

“You’re stupid.” she says. “What did you do, chair a meeting? Spend too long arguing with people?”

There’s no way he can explain it with gestures, so Tedros doesn’t even bother to try. He puts his arms around her waist and pulls her to him, burying his face in her neck. He’s missed her. He always misses her. The idea of marrying two heirs to separate thrones is only politically advantageous, not practical in the slightest. (Tedros thinks it probably works better if said heirs don’t like one another.) Nowadays they’re only separate for a few months or so per year, since Tedros has started digging his heels in, reluctant to leave his children for long, but at one point in the first few years of Agatha’s reign, they’d spent more than six months apart. Usually Agatha comes over to Camelot, since Anadil is completely impossible to influence and a very suitable choice to oversee Gavaldon, but Tedros is generally expected to attend Gavaldon’s winter festivals, and is, like this year, sometimes obligated to provide the required winter weather, when nature is not up to the job. 

“I missed you.” says Agatha vaguely, running her hands through his hair. “Your daughter wants to show you her new fire-breathing trick.”

Glad they’re on the same page, Tedros tips his head back, tracing the faintly glowing veins in her shoulder, and raises his eyebrows. Agatha snorts. 

“Nineteen and still coming up with mildly dangerous tricks. She’s worked out how to make fire come out of her  _ nose _ . It’s disgusting. It gave her a nosebleed once, but mostly I think it just makes her snot black.”

Tedros stares at her, faintly impressed and faintly horrified in equal measure. Agatha grins. 

“Callis hates it. Reminds her too much of when I used to choke.”

Both Tedros  _ and  _ Callis are very grateful that doesn’t happen anymore. 

On the topic of Callis, Tedros looks questioning as best he can. Agatha catches his meaning. 

“Oh, she’s fine. Bounced back from that stomach bug immediately. Told me to tell you that if you make it ‘ _ too damn cold’ _ this year and give her chilblains again, she’ll finish what Vanessa started.” 

Tedros groans. Agatha laughs at him. 

“I told her that was a bit far, but she’s getting irreverent as she approaches her seventies.”

Tedros, who thinks she was  _ always  _ irreverent, merely smiles. His throat is starting to give him a headache, and he thinks his breathing will probably be worse tomorrow. His lungs get inflamed infuriatingly easily, nowadays. It will never be as bad as it was when it first happened-- it had hurt too much to even be able to cry, let alone speak-- but it still bothers him more than he’d like it to.

He was just a kid. 

He must look agitated, because Agatha leans down to kiss him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

Tedros shrugs dismissively. It’s been on his mind all day, anyway, and it’s not as if Vanessa is around anymore. He puts his hand to his neck to indicate the real problem. Agatha grimaces and sets her hands back on his throat. It provides mild relief, but nothing  _ really  _ helps.

“I’ll raid Callis’s cupboards, get you some gingko leaf or something.” she says. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, though.”

Callis had been quick-thinking enough to save his life once, therefore Tedros takes any random herbal remedy she endorses without complaint. 

(Also because it took him so long to win her favour in the first place, he’s not going to do anything to offend her again.) 

They lie in silence for a while, save the embers falling in the grate, the patter of the snow on the window, and Tedros’s slightly laboured breathing. Agatha has shifted off him, probably so he can breathe better, but their sides are still pressed together. 

Something in Tedros’s pockets is digging into his back. Frowning, he rifles around in his doublet--

And produces the miniature.

He must make some sort of noise, because Agatha opens her eyes--

“Is that  _ me?  _ Give--”

She snatches it, and Tedros swipes for it back, but she holds it out of his reach.

“This is the _original.”_ she says, bewildered. “Ooh, teenage Agatha wasn’t much to look at, was she, what did I do this for-- _hey!_ What was that for-- Tedros, it was a _joke--_ ow! Stop shoving me!”

Tedros glares at her. He’d been fairly sure they’d gotten this mentality out of her by now, but occasionally it still makes an appearance. In reality, she has changed very little-- her scars look shallower nowadays, thirty extra years to heal, and she’s grown into her height and bony limbs, but other than that, she looks about the same. 

“I’m  _ joking,  _ Tedros--” sighs Agatha when he doesn’t let up. She looks back at it and her arm drops. “Why did you keep  _ this  _ one, let alone carry it about? Don’t you have more up to date ones?”

He nods. They’re on his desk. She knows this. 

“Why not them, then?”

Tedros blinks at her. He’s honestly surprised she didn’t know he still had it, but he supposes he only ever looks at it when he’s not around her.

Agatha looks back at the painting, slumping back down next to him. 

“ _ Tedros _ .” she says, quieter. Unsure of whether he’s being disapproved of or not, Tedros looks warily at her. 

“You really kept this all this time?”

Well, obviously. 

Silently, Agatha hands it back to him, a lot more carefully than she’d taken it from him. Slightly worried he’s done something wrong, Tedros sets it on the nightstand and turns back to her--

Agatha sets her hand on his cheek.

“I love you.” she says quietly. Relieved, Tedros exhales, and is on the cusp of returning the sentiment before he realises he can’t talk. Frustrated, he takes a breath to attempt it anyway--

Agatha cuts him off by kissing him. Tedros’s hand goes to the small of her back and hers go over his shoulders. He can feel her grinning, and he’s pretty sure--

He pulls back, frowning. She  _ is  _ laughing at him, and she doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“You’re stupid.” she says fondly, smoothing his hair. “ And I’m unsentimental.”

Tedros takes her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. He thinks she generally  _ is _ largely unsentimental, but he doesn’t really mind. He can be sentimental enough for the both of them. 

* * *

In the end, Tedros skips the presentation of Nicola to Agatha’s court to sleep in. 

He’d woken up when Agatha had, but by that time his entire head had been screaming at him, and it had even hurt to swallow, so he’d groggily helped her dress, reluctantly accepted a glass of something disgusting Callis was clearly responsible for, and collapsed back into the warm spot where Agatha had been sleeping for another two hours. 

Still, whatever Callis had done, it had worked at least a bit, because when Tedros wakes up to Chaddick and Beatrix rifling through his closet, he can at least function, even if talking is still somewhat beyond him and he still feels distinctly achy. 

He refuses breakfast and wanders down the corridors on his own, looking for his children. He’s always loved how lax Gavaldon is in terms of guards and attendants-- there’s no pressure to take your attendants everywhere like there is in Camelot.

Court is still in session, so he takes one of the outside breezeways, wondering whether Alex had actually caved and gone to join her mother and siblings, this morning--

Then shrieking and cheering erupts from a courtyard nearby, and Tedros knows she hasn’t. 

He emerges onto a balcony and takes the side stairs down, into a snowy courtyard with a suspiciously damp, snow-lacking circle in the centre. And in the centre of  _ that _ ... 

Alex has always loved turning her magic into party tricks.

Weaving a flame in between her fingers the same way Agatha always does, his eldest daughter stalks in a circle-- barefoot, for some reason Tedros has yet to work out-- talking emphatically to her big-eyed audience. Courtier’s children, clearly. A gaggle of nursemaids lurk nearby, looking mildly disapproving. 

“-- and so, the fearsome dragon told the King that she would defeat the horrible old knights. She flew aaaaaaall the way to the cliffside where the knights were hiding. But they weren’t scared, ‘coz they were idiots, so they drew their swords and charged at the dragon! They went _die, foul beast--_ which wasn’t very nice-- and the dragon said _no_ and so she attacked _them_ with her magic fire! It went _fshoom,_ all around, just like... _this!”_

Alex spins like a ballerina and sweeps her leg around, slashing flame around in a circle. The court children shriek and jump, amazed.

“And all the knights at the front got  _ fried _ in their armour like crispy bacon!” proclaims Alex.

“Did they go  _ sizzle _ ?” shouts a girl from the back.

“They did go sizzle!” confirms Alex cheerfully. 

Tedros, who knows Agatha and Callis’s somewhat macabre storytelling influence when he hears it, groans to himself. 

“So, the knights at the back all rushed to the front, to try and defeat the dragon themselves, because they’re--”

“STUPID!” shout the children gleefully.

“Oh, yes they are! They try to hold the dragon down so they can chain her--” she throws various flames into the air, symbolising the dragon fighting-- “and they neaaaaarly do it, but,  _ then,  _ the dragon does what the dragon does best!”

The kids gasp and nudge each other, clearly having seen this before.

“She took a  _ big  _ breath, and she looked up, and then…”

She pauses for just slightly too long. The kids are practically vibrating with excitement. “ _ WOOSH _ !”

Alex rubs her hands together, sparks a flame, brings it to her mouth, and blows it billowing into the air, melting the falling snow and spraying steam everywhere. The kids scream in excitement and clap furiously. Alex directs the fire upwards, away from her audience, and bows. 

“The Evil Knights were defeated! The King was very pleased. In fact, he was so pleased that he kissed the dragon, who turned into a beautiful Princess, and they got married and everyone lived happily ever after!”

Tedros, who thinks he may have been guilty of telling a less gruesome version of the same story before, grimaces vaguely. 

“What about the Evil Queen who sent the knights?” shouts a little boy.

“Oh, the King pushed her off a cliff and she went splat and died.” says Alex. 

Tedros chokes, wondering who the hell had told her  _ that  _ specific rumour--

Actually, no, he can almost guarantee it was Callis. 

The kids cheer at the grisly end, as kids generally tend to, and Alex claps her hands together, grinning. 

“Alright, that’s the end! Your parents will be out of court, now! C’mon!”

The kids boo and complain, but Alex is insistent, herding them back to their unamused nursemaids. Tedros knows most of them are somewhat resentful towards Alex, since Agatha just re-appointed Callis instead of choosing any of them to look after her. 

“Do the magic!” shouts one of the littlest girls, tottering over towards her. “One more!”

Alex considers this. 

“Hmm, I don’t know... I need to sneeze pretty bad and I wouldn’t want that to ruin it.”

A chorus of pleading rises from the short sea of heads and mittens. Alex holds up a hand, clearly pantomiming a sneeze...

Then she sneezes for  _ real _ , and Tedros winces as fire shoots out of her nose, scorching the ground and the front of her jerkin. The kids burst into screams and laughter and finally agree to waddle away, Alex waving them off and wiping soot from her face.

“Princess Alex! Are  _ you  _ a dragon?” shouts one of the boys, being carried away by his nursemaid. 

“Why do you think I’m a dragon, Leo?”

“You got fire, like the dragons! An’ you know all about it!”

Alex grins.

“Well, I don’t have any wings or big teeth or talons,  _ but--” _

She blew smoke into the snowy air.

“I do have fire. So, who knows?”

The kids hurry off, looking eagerly back over their shoulder at her, clearly discussing the merits of being a dragon. 

Grinning, Alex turns to grab her boots--

And turns to find Tedros holding them out to her. 

She gives a little yelp of joy and flings her arms around him. 

“Old man!”

Tedros, who has long been accustomed to being insulted by his children, merely grins and ruffles her hair, even shorter than Agatha’s had been when he’d first known her. 

“Mom said you can’t talk, is that true?”

Tedros stares at her, unimpressed. Alex blinks expectantly for a few seconds-- then cackles.

“Oh, right, dumb question--”

She plops down on the floor to put her boots back on. 

“Like my trick? Gran hates it, thinks it’s disgusting, but Mom and Mark think it’s funny and Ros keeps trying to make me do it so I think she thinks it’s funny too, even though she pretends she doesn’t.”

Tedros smiles at her, watching her try to unpick a knot in her bootlaces. She’s always been good at entertaining children, probably because she’s three years older than her siblings, and has the  _ big sister  _ mode down perfectly. 

Speaking of her siblings…

“You’ve burnt the laces on your jerkin.” says Rosalind, descending the stairs with her court gown hiked up to her knees. Highly improper, but Rosalind spends most of her life dancing between what was proper and what wasn’t. “Doing that stupid trick, again?”

“The old man likes it!” protests Alex, examining her scorched clothes. 

“Because he does equally stupid things with  _ his  _ magic.” sniffs Rosalind. Tedros pulls the veil at the back of her headdress as she passes him, knowing full well she’s just pretending she’s not pleased to see him. She shoves him and they exchange a few attempts at trying to frost burn one another, even though they know full well it doesn’t work. 

“Where’s Mom?” demands Alex, tottering to her feet. 

“Arguing with courtiers.” says Rosalind, marching over to examine the new snow settling in the circle Alex had melted. 

“Naturally.” Alex looks up at the heavy grey clouds. “Can we go in? I don’t like being snowed on. It just melts.”

“Sucks to be you, I guess.” says Rosalind.

Tedros glances to his right and finds that Marcus has appeared at his side, having made a silent approach as usual. He’s not even paying attention to his sisters’ arguing, instead flicking through some notes from the meeting and picking unmelting snowflakes from his glasses. Tedros puts his hand on his head to get his attention. 

Marcus seems to guess what he wants to know. Since he’s the most involved in the magical research (Alex is too restless, and Rosalind uninterested), he’ll have the most to do with Nicola. 

“She seems like a good addition.” he says, folding his papers and tucking them inside his doublet. “She has no concept of court customs, but I suppose that’s why you sent her here.”

It’s true; Agatha has become extremely lax in terms of enforcing etiquette in her court. Tedros and Callis are still the only one besides officials and servants who know the proper table layout and what order dignitaries have to be introduced in. 

Perhaps that’s best. Though it does mean the Camelot dignitaries get headaches when they’re obligated to host anyone from Gavaldon, nowadays. 

They head back inside after all, and Tedros trails behind his children, watching them rattle down the corridor and bounce off one another like stray marbles-- Alex trotting, Rosalind sauntering, and Marcus wandering behind them, clearly not really paying attention. They all have a very strong resemblance to one another, except their complexions-- Alex is tan, the twins are stark pale-- and that Alex bleaches her hair blonde and the twins dye theirs dark. It has never made sense to Tedros why they’d bother, but Rosalind claims vanity, Marcus claims it makes him less noticeable and keeps him and Rosalind looking like twins, and although Alex has never said it, Tedros rather thinks it’s because she wants to resemble him, in some way. She’s almost a clone of Agatha, otherwise, save her broad shoulders and crooked teeth--

As he has the thought, Agatha emerges from a side passage and falls into step beside him. 

“Alex entertaining the kids again?”

Tedros nods. She snorts, accepting his proffered arm. 

“Familiar little story, isn’t it? I think Callis has been embellishing it.”

Tedros, who swears he never included the fate of the  _ Evil Queen,  _ looks across at her to agree, and finds that she’s veiled. Disgruntled, he leans over and pushes it back, and she doesn’t move to stop him, but does shoot him a  _ look _ . 

“You know it’s a political move, Tedros, don’t sulk.”

Tedros ignores her, flattening her fringe for her. She smiles despite herself, and takes a breath to say something--

Shrieking and arguing erupts from further down the corridor, and Tedros turns to see Rosalind snatching her skirts up and sprinting after Alex, both bashing through the door at the end of the hall and disappearing. Marcus trails after them, their long-suffering referee.

“We should probably go and break that up.” says Agatha. Tedros nods. 

Neither of them walk any faster. 

Agatha leans against him and Tedros kisses her free hand. It snows harder. Alex, somewhere beyond, starts shouting about  _ snowballs inside  _ and  _ don’t be a little shit, Ros--  _ but then abruptly goes quiet. Tedros counts to five...

A sheepish “ _ Sorry, Grandma.”  _ from both girls is just about audible.

“I love it when it’s  _ not  _ me that Callis is telling off.” grins Agatha. “It’s such a nice change.”

Tedros looks sceptical. Callis has always been slightly too lenient on Agatha, in his opinion. Agatha catches the look.

“You didn’t witness my preteen phase of abusing my magic to mean she didn’t make me do things.”

Tedros, who had done the exact same thing at eight, snorts. Agatha continues;

“Though, she did turn a deliberately blind eye when I did it to Vanessa.”

Tedros must react in some way to the mention of Vanessa, because Agatha turns to stare searchingly at him. For a second, they just look at one another--

“Ah, there you two are!” Sophie shoves her way in-between them and loops her arms through one of theirs each. “Tedros, control your brat, won’t you? She shouted so loudly I smudged my makeup.”

Knowing she means Rosalind, since Sophie tends to align the children by the powers, Tedros makes a point of ignoring her. He not-so-secretly enjoys Sophie and Rosalind’s scraps. 

“I know it was her and Marcus that defaced that portrait of Mother, as well. I mean, it was very funny, but it doesn’t look proper. Alexandra keeps taking them down, as well.”

Tedros can’t resist a croaky;

“Good.”

“Of course that’s the first thing you manage to say.” mutters Agatha. Tedros smiles innocently at her. 

“Well,  _ yes _ .” says Sophie. “I can’t say I’m particularly sad to see those ghastly portraits go. I swear her eyes follow me, sometimes. Old witch.”

Agatha snorts.

“I never thought it was possible for someone to hate Vanessa more than Callis and I, but you two give us a run for our money.”

She moves ahead to open the door, and Sophie and Tedros make eye contact behind her back. 

They look away without saying anything. 

It’s in the past.

But at least  _ someone _ knows the truth, the full truth, even if it’s just Nicola, a random village girl. 

Maybe she’ll spread the word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fandom: prefers burn bc it has just tagatha and no ocs in it  
> me: puts my ocs in burn  
> fandom:  
> me:  
> fandom:  
> me: haha alex funny  
> (I was always gonna do this I just thought it was funny that I just snuck em in right at the last minute).  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed!! I hope this was a satisfying ending, I fought with it for aaaaages before I was actually happy with it. I apologise if you were wanting more, but really, dragging it out for much longer would have made it feel forced. I'm proud of how quickly I finished this!! Basically my quarantine fic lol. Never! Tedros fic next, though I will still be updating Ros Vs whilst I work on that (I'm gonna write it all before I post it, and it'll be in two parts), so if you liked the look of Alex, Marcus and Ros you got here... maybe you should entertain yourself with Ros Vs before I get the Teddy one done. I'm very grateful for all the hype this fic has got, even if I do remain slightly unsure.... why... but thank you very much!! I'm glad you enjoyed

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Frostbite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422234) by [britishflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishflower/pseuds/britishflower)




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